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VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 







VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


BY 

F. E. BAILY 


m 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright, 1923, 1924, 

By The Bobbs-Merrill Company 


PZj 

V U\, 



Printed in the United States of America 



PRESS OF 

BRAUNWORTH & CO. 
BOOK MANUFACTURERS 
BROOKLYN, N. Y. 


JUL 24 ’2t CL 

©CU80° 245 • 


Ai « 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 







VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


I 

“1Y /fY dear Charles,” observed the Honorable 
xVJl Virginia Lauriston in her very clear voice, 
“you simply must realize that a girl isn’t necessarily 
a fool just because she is a girl.” 

The great drawing-room at Wynwood disposes 
its noble proportions like a graceful woman. The 
furniture was looted at the sack of a continental 
palace, and upon its south wall hangs Titian’s cele¬ 
brated Pink Lady. The French windows of the 
great drawing-room at Wynwood give upon the first 
of sweeping tiers of terraces constructed in the days 
when every one had plenty of money. Sir Charles 
Gillespie liked to sit there in the summer when the 
cost of heating need not worry him, thus combining 
spaciousness with economy. 

Virginia, swathed in the softest old-rose, poised 


2 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


herself delicately on a carved and gilded armchair, 
its silk tapestry frayed by the limbs of distinguished 
generations. Her white shoulders, the most perfect 
among society, quivered in the faintest shrug. The 
light from a solitary chandelier high in the painted 
ceiling caressed her beautifully waved hair; she 
turned her admirable profile, glanced at her com¬ 
panion out of calm eyes neither gray nor green and 
went on reproachfully: 

“You don’t seriously mean to be a beast to little 
Vingie, do you, Charles?” 

Sir Charles smiled at her a smile enriched by 
almost sixty years of joyous bachelorhood. The 
ingredients of that smile are lost and irreplaceable. 
Eton, two years in the Guards and then Embassy 
after Embassy had gone to its making; the esteem 
of every head waiter in Europe, the genuine interest 
of more than thirty reigning beauties had mellowed 
it. Innumerable tight corners had steadied it. Vin¬ 
gie, aged twenty, could see through it like glass. 

“No woman with your looks is ever a fool. 
Sometimes, however, she’s a little ill-advised.” 

Vingie enlaced her slender fingers round one knee, 
exhibiting two of the purest ankles in the world, 
never shifting her level glance. 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


3 


“You've had your good time, Charles, and now 
you've got into the stuffy stage and want to water 
down everybody else's. I should hate you to drive 
me into deceit." 

“The man is not born who could drive a woman 
into anything," replied Sir Charles, making, how¬ 
ever, a mental reservation in favor of himself. 

“You're so impossibly reasonable, Charles, dear. 
A lot of very pretty women must have worked 
frightfully hard over you. It's very difficult being 
a girl. You see, I want a career." 

“Oh, my God!" murmured Sir Charles, staring 
out over the umbrageousness of the park. 

Vingie fluttered weightlessly across the deep-piled 
carpet and set herself gently on his knee. One arm 
stole around his neck, and her irreproachably waved 
hair just crushed his cheek. Sir Charles suffered a 
desperate internal revolution. He knew she was his 
ward, and the situation might not be exploited; he 
knew the powder from that moonbeam arm would 
never really leave his dress coat, unless it went to the 
cleaners. 

Vingie, stroking the gray head with devilish fin¬ 
gers, proceeded to intensify the torture. 

“Lovely thick hair," she murmured. “Thank 


4 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


heaven you’ll never go bald, Charles. You’re awf’ly 
young in some ways—but then fifty-five’s nothing 
for a man. I loathe boys—they’re so shallow and 
pig-headed. I don’t mean a career in your sense of 
the word, you old silly—not a typist nor a sanitary 
inspectress nor a she-doctor, nor even a membress 
of Parliament. They wear simply odious clothes, 
and men hate them. But I’ve only a thousand a 
year of my own and that hardly buys stockings 
nowadays. Why, even these were four guineas.” 

She extended one pure ankle. Sir Charles could 
see with his own eyes just what one gets in the way 
of half a pair of stockings at four guineas the pair. 

“I want a career like Helen of Troy’s or Cleo¬ 
patra’s, Charles—something tremendous that lets a 
woman be a woman. I should like to toy with 
Statesmen and drive foreign offices mad.” 

Sir Charles removed the arm from about his neck 
and achieved a deprecating smile. 

“Marriage is the only career for a girl in our set, 
Virginia: wife of a coming man, one of the great 
political hostesses; Rupert’s for instance.” 

Vingie slid lingeringly from his knee. 

“I don’t think little Vingie wants to be married,” 
she said at last. “My wild oats aren’t sown—not 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


5 


one teeny little oat. Besides, Rupert fatigues me. 
He dances rottenly, and he doesn’t understand the 
first thing about women. Where would you be if 
you hadn’t understood women to the very depths, 
Charles?” 

“Probably among the ten richest men in the coun¬ 
try, instead of scraping to raise the interest on the 
mortgage. Rupert will go far, Virginia. He’s a 
worker; a damn’ sound, plodding, ambitious fellow, 
with the sort of face anybody’s husband would trust 
and the instincts of a gentleman. I should give my 
daughter to him without a pang, if I had a daughter 
and he wanted to marry her and there were nobody 
in a position to get up and forbid the banns.” 

The door opened casually and there entered 
Rupert Frack of the Foreign Office, with knitted 
brow. He propelled his tall lank figure into the 
family circle; his dark hair lay protestingly where 
it had been put, his trousers hung in depressing 
folds, and his hands, thrust into his jacket pockets, 
made the garment sag slantwise. He had never 
really grasped the essential spirituality of tying a 
dress tie. 

Flinging a mechanical smile at Virginia like a 
bone to a dog, he said gloomily to Sir Charles: 


6 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


“I’ve had a wire from the Foreign Minister in 
code fourteen. Begins: 


“J arrives by air on the tenth and goes to D. 
Very hush-hush. Please arrange. Practically no 
servants and the telephone disconnected. Radio set 
to be installed. Local supplies out of the question; 
the whole show to be entirely self-supporting. Suit¬ 
able amusement essential. Ends.” 


Sir Charles raised his eyebrows and spread out his 
hands. 

“The tenth,” he murmured sorrowfully. “That’s 
the opening day of the Hampshire Summer Meeting. 
Bill Derringham was taking me down in his Rolls. 
The Lovelace filly is practically a certainty for the 
three-thirty race, and I’ve got a hatful on her at a 
very tempting price. I shall go and ring up Ford- 
ingbridge and tell him what I think of him.” 

Sir Charles went out jauntily, and if souls wore 
hats, the hat of Sir Charles’ soul would have been 
slightly on one side. Rupert Frack dropped into a 
chair and stared fixedly before him. Vingie re¬ 
garded him with kind eyes, and said: 

“Rupert, who is she? You can tell me because 
I’m frightfully sympathetic—almost psychic, in fact. 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


7 


Does she wear black undies and sniff cocaine, or is 
she one of those innocent-faced little cats with the 
temperament of a fiend? Poor boy, you look simply 
worried to death.” 

Rupert glanced up palely and smote her. 

“I am not in love, if that’s what you mean. I 
haven’t time. My mind is occupied with more im¬ 
portant matters. When every day brings an inter¬ 
national crisis or two, one’s private feelings must 
go by the board.” 

Vingie seated herself before him. 

“Then you ought to be thrown out of the Foreign 
Office. The whole world is a wangle, Rupert, and 
nobody can wangle like a woman. I can’t think how 
you dare say you’re not in love. It isn’t safe. Some 
day a Hungarian adventuress with cloth-topped 
boots and moldy furs and a Shaftesbury Avenue 
hat will put it across you and you’ll have to go out 
and plant rubber in Ceylon to hide your disgrace. 
You see, you might even fall in love with me one 
day. I’m considered awfully pretty, Rupert. P’r’aps 
you’ve never noticed ? Look!” 

His mind working in its trivial rut, stumbled on 
an idea. 

“By jove,” he exclaimed, “there’s that phrase in 


8 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


the telegram. You might provide the essential 
amusement.” 

Vingie left him because some situations are be¬ 
yond words. She went up-stairs to her bedroom, 
undressed, curled herself in an armchair and picked 
up a book. The night breeze kissed her bare throat 
and stirred restlessly in her hair. 

“Although Angela had dismissed Richard,” said 
the book, “his image remained graven immovably 
on her heart. She missed his strength, his delicate 
courtesy, though behind it lurked ever the ruthless¬ 
ness of the male. She sensed the misery of loneli¬ 
ness. She had ceased to belong to any one-” 

Vingie threw the book peevishly across the room. 

“Tosh!” she muttered, yawning shamelessly. She 
spent a deft half-hour cold-creaming her face, 
dabbed a little powder here and there, slid out of her 
cobwebby wrap and climbed slowly into bed. As 
she switched off the light a faint giggle parted her 
lips. She was thinking of Rupert. 

At six a.m. Rupert Frack, looking longer and 
limper than ever in pajamas and dressing-gown, 
entered Sir Charles’ room quietly but firmly, carry¬ 
ing a black leather portfolio. He coughed, drew an 
armchair to the bedside, and sat waiting. 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


9 

Sir Charles merely opened his eyes, saw Rupert 
Frack and closed them again. 

“Are you just getting up or just going to bed, 
Rupert?” he murmured without the least trace of 
ill-temper. “In either case I’m sure they’ve given 
you a room of your own. P’r’aps you’ve mistaken 
the door. One door looks very like another.” 

The visitor opened his portfolio and began ar¬ 
ranging papers methodically. 

“The chief will be here at ten,” he explained, 
“and I’d just like to get everything cut and dried be¬ 
fore he comes, Uncle Charles. This Janowicz affair 
is going to be frightfully delicate. I want to have 
all the ground clear for the chief.” 

Sir Charles opened his eyes again, experienced, 
patient, rather heavy-lidded eyes. 

“If the Angel of Death were calling for me at ten 
I should still have my cup of tea and biscuit at 
eight,” he complained. “I never attempt anything 
whatever before my early cup of tea, Rupert. As 
for Fordingbridge’s getting here by ten, the idea is 
nonsense. He’ll arrive just in time for luncheon, 
if he comes at all.” 

“Still the matter is very complicated, and it will 
take one some time to explain clearly,” asserted 


IO 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


Rupert. “I will begin with our note dated April 
twenty-sixth.” 

Sir Charles' eyes glinted. 

“Go away, you idiot boy,” he commanded. “No 
wonder you look older than I do, Rupert. No won¬ 
der you earn people's undying hatred by your poi¬ 
sonous efficiency. No great man is ever efficient. 
He leaves that to people like you, and then in the 
nick of time he comes down wallop and settles the 
whole thing. Get out of my room. You can say 
your piece after breakfast.” 

“It throws out my entire day, but of course if you 
insist-” grumbled Rupert. He gathered his ef¬ 

fects and departed. In his own chamber he lighted 
a long black cigar, having an iron digestion, and 
began to pore over a large-scale map of Bessarabia. 

At half past seven the laughing feet of sunbeams 
running races over her adorable face awoke Vingie. 
She too opened her eyes, and gazed inquiringly 
round the room. Fortunately she did not find 
Rupert Frack sitting beside her bed with a portfolio. 
Instead she dwelt lovingly on the sycamore-wood 
furniture, the silk hangings and upholstery, and 
cream Persian carpet, the dressing-table fittings— 
ivory-backed brushes, and the table top swung back 



VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


ii 


to reveal rows and rows of tiny pots and bottles 
containing Beauty at fabulous prices. 

“How good Charles is to his little lamb!” she 
murmured contentedly. “Dear, nice, wicked old 
thing. It takes a long and ill-spent life to teach a 
man how to look after a girl properly. That’s why 
Rupert’s so hopeless. He hasn’t a mind above his 
wretched work. Could I marry Rupert? No, not 
yet, anyhow. He’s too clever and too respectable. 
I adore a clever man, but he mustn’t despise me. 
Rupert does. He thinks I’m a fluffy empty-headed 
little nuisance. He must be taught till he goes sick 
in the tummy when he hears my footstep in the dis¬ 
tance. That’s what I call love in a man. A girl 
goes sick in the tummy if she doesn't hear his foot¬ 
step in the distance, in case some other girl does.” 

A smile played round Vingie’s delightful mouth, 
a mouth not too small for kisses and not too large 
for beauty. 

A knock fell on the door. There entered a pretty 
maid bearing a morning tea set of egg-shell china. 
Virginia poured herself a cup, drank thirstily and 
began to nibble a wafer of bread spread with golden 
butter. 

u ’Morning, Mary,” she said. The pretty maid 


12 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


smiled. She was folding Vingie’s clothes with 
caressing fingers. “Give me a hand glass,” con¬ 
tinued Vingie, and began to examine her face with 
the ruthless scrutiny of a specialist exploring a pos¬ 
sibly inflamed appendix. 

“You’d better massage my skin with that Cir¬ 
cassian cream,” she announced after deep thought. 
“I don’t want to look a hag to-day.” 

Remote in the bachelors’ wing, Rupert Frack’s 
morning toilet afforded no such charm. He stood 
moodily before the glass, his mind far away in the 
Middle East, and the kriss kriss of the razor against 
his beard fell on deaf ears. 

A sad-faced, silent valet struggled despondently 
with Rupert’s clothes. As fast as Grimes pressed 
them into shape, Rupert, like all really clever men— 
genius as distinct from mere talent—dragged them 
out again; and Grimes it “give ’im the fair ’ump, so 
it did—nothing but h’iron, h’iron all day long.” 

Exactly at twelve-thirty the tires of Lord Ford- 
ingbridge’s car crunched fatly on the gravel outside 
the main entrance. That jaunty and rubicund old 
gentleman sprang out with boyish abandon, removed 
his gray tall hat, and danced over the smooth lawn 
to greet Vingie. 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


13 


Exercising the privilege of an old friend he folded 
her willowy figure against his double-breasted hol- 
land waistcoat and kissed her in the manner of a 
connoisseur. They moved slowly side by side into 
the house. Rupert received them solemnly on the 
threshold. 

“Good morning, sir,” he began with his excessive 
competence. “Since receiving your code telegram 
I have worked out the whole matter in great detail. 
No doubt you will wish to discuss it with Sir Charles 
at once.” 

“Hey!” retorted Lord Fordingbridge genially, 
“not before luncheon, young man, not before lunch¬ 
eon ! God bless me, unheard of, absolutely unheard 
of! Good morning, Charles! I have captured a 
young damsel. She is the captive of my bow and 
spear. Let’s toast her in a glass of something. The 
dust on these roads is a perfect plague. My throat’s 
like sand-paper.” 

“Well,” intoned Sir Charles absently, “here’s jolly 
good luck.” He made a face at Rupert and drank. 

“A little luncheon I think, if you please, Charles,” 
said Lord Fordingbridge at last. “A loaf of bread, 
a jug of wine, and Virginia sitting beside me. Even 
at my age there are consolations.” 


14 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


“And the older one gets the more they cost,” mur¬ 
mured Sir Charles with gentle melancholy. 

For an hour Vingie played skilfully with them 
all. Then she wandered away on dreaming feet. 
Lord Fordingbridge watched her go, his eyes a 
thought less innocent. Sir Charles lighted a cigar 
and said resignedly: “Well, George, you bird of ill- 
omen, would you like to come into my study and get 
it over? Rupert has the entire archives of the For¬ 
eign Office in a medium-sized portfolio.” 

In oak and leather sanctuary Rupert unlocked 
certain dispatch cases and glanced inquiringly at 
his chief. 

“Go on, my boy,” said that great man, closing 
his eyes and settling deeper in his armchair. 

Through many golden minutes the voice of 
Rupert Frack cut pitilessly, reading documents of 
state. Lord Fordingbridge slept like a tired child; 
Sir Charles, gazing out of the window, wondered 
wistfully if the Lovelace filly had really been heard 
coughing in her stable. At length the voice of 
Rupert ceased and Lord Fordingbridge woke in¬ 
stantly. 

“Good lad, good lad!” he exclaimed admiringly, 
and addressed himself to his host. 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


15 


“Y’ see, Charles, Janowicz, the Prime Minister 
of Jugo-Czechia wants a loan of thirty thousand 
million kronen. It’s got to be hushed up because if 
the rest of Europe knew, about ten States ’ud invade 
Janowicz’s country to get hold of the loot. He’s 
coming over by air, and I’d like him to go to your 
cottage in Dorset where nobody’ll see him. The 
money’s safe because he’s willing to lease us an oil¬ 
field as security. It’s a good oil-field; I’ve had a 
man go all over it; but we’d rather not lend him 
quite so much on it—’tisn’t safe. He might double 
the army and start fighting. The thing is to get him 
down in Dorset with just you and Rupert and me, 
and settle everything comfortably. I’d like Virginia 
to be hostess if she will. Does it rather well, I 
consider. You got my wire about the details. 
Hope I’m not putting you out.” 

"It seems a lot of fuss. How much are all these 
kronen worth—about fourpence?” asked Sir 
Charles. “All right, George, I’ll arrange everything 
except Vingie. You’d better do that yourself. 
Rupert, old thing, if you’ve locked up all your 
murky past, why not come and help me find her?” 

They found her in a deep cane lounge within the 
shadow of the terrace, a copy of Baudelaire’s poems 


16 VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 

in her lap, a box of chocolates by her side. She 
looked up at them with the supreme tolerance of a 
girl for men, and they delivered their message. 

Vingie rose delicately to her feet and passed into 
the house. Lord Fordingbridge received her mag¬ 
nificently, bowing her into a chair. For three 
minutes he outlined the position. 

“I am very poor, m’lud,” she announced at last. 
“You want me to use such looks and such wits as I 
have for your benefit entirely free of charge. It 
doesn’t seem quite fair.” 

“My dear Virginia, what can I offer you? You 
wouldn’t take money, and my heart is sixty-five 
years old!” 

“It’s dreadful to be offered money; it’s worse 
not to have any. Why not call it my expenses? 
Clothes are frightfully important on these occa¬ 
sions. Suppose we say a year’s credit at my dress¬ 
maker’s ?” 

“It sounds very terrible—very terrible indeed,” 
murmured Lord Fordingbridge dismally. “Of 
course there are ways and means. It needn’t come 
up on the estimates, or be debated in the House, but 
still-” 

“The very nicest stockings cost four guineas, and 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


17 

you can see what one gets for the money,” she com¬ 
plained. 

His lordship glanced critically at two slender 
ankles. It did indeed seem a pity that they should 
ever be unsuitably clad. 

“Well, well,” said he—so little does it take to 
turn the scale—“and how much would you suggest 
for this annual credit ?” 

“Oh, about two thousand pounds. You see, if 
I’m to have any effect on the negotiations I shall 
need to dress the part. I’m simply in rags at the 
moment.” She stood up and smiled, and Lord Ford- 
ingbridge held the door for her respectfully. 

“If I may say so, you display a positive genius 
for finance,” he observed. “You take a great weight 
off my aged shoulders.” 

Sir Charles’ Dorset cottage stands on the slope 
of a hill declining to the cliff edge. The grounds, 
some forty acres in extent, are surrounded on the 
landward side by a high brick wall built when bricks 
and bricklayers cost relatively nothing. From these 
reasons it seemed ideal for a secret conference; 
nothing remained to be done but erect a marquee 
for the detectives and import a few old servants who 


i8 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


had been bred up in the family from boy to man. 

In the beginning of twilight Vingie from her 
rose-embowered casement peeped down to watch the 
distinguished visitors arrive. Behind her the house¬ 
keeper from Wynwood, sixty years old and com¬ 
pletely out of touch with modern feminine gar¬ 
ments, struggled stonily with the duties of a lady's 
maid. Sir Charles had proclaimed Mary on diplo¬ 
matic grounds. 

A nondescript hired car, driven by a police chauf¬ 
feur, a detective beside him, drew up, and there 
descended two gentlemen in frock coats and silk 
hats, having the appearance of an undertaker and 
his chief of staff. 

The taller she took to be Mr. Janowicz. Even the 
funereal garb could not altogether obscure a certain 
charm, a breadth of shoulder and narrowness of 
hip, a faint suggestion of swagger. He had a pale 
thin face, a little black mustache and ironic eyes. 

The smaller, Mr. Misch, was doubtless his secre¬ 
tary. Having regard to Mr. Misch's prominent 
nose, his thin beard, his rotund presence and a man¬ 
nerism of washing his hands with invisible soap and 
water, Vingie discovered his Christian name to be 
Lazarus without surprise. 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


19 


Rupert Frack received them with distant cour¬ 
tesy. The featureless car rolled fitfully away. 
Vingie turned back to her dressing. 

“I have changed my mind, Vokes. Please give me 
the black frock and my pearls,” she said languidly. 

She met him first at dinner. Sir Charles dis¬ 
played his perfect polished courtesy. Lord Fording- 
bridge wore his invariable dress clothes of eigh¬ 
teenth-century cut with ruffled shirt and lace stock, 
and Mr. Misch looked like a rather deplorable 
waiter. But Mr. Janowicz bowed over her hand with 
a kind of passionate boredom yet gracefully withal, 
and his eyes swept her in sardonic admiration. 

He observed in French that he was enchanted. 
They spoke French for the benefit of Mr. Misch, 
since no foreigner can grasp the Jugo-Czechian 
tongue, and Mr. Misch knew no English. 

On her left at the round dinner table in a bow 
window, scents of roses and new-mown grass steal¬ 
ing beneath the raised sashes, and the far-off sigh¬ 
ing of the sea in the distance, Vingie felt his per¬ 
sonality react to hers as a rider feels his horse take 
hold of the bit. Rupert was saying very correct 
things in very correct trench, Sir Charles and Lord 


20 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


Fordingbridge chatted impersonally, Mr. Misch 
fawned. Vingie turned and said in English so that 
Mr. Misch might not understand: 

"Do you like my frock, Mr. Janowicz? I chose it 
specially for you when I saw you get out of the 
car, because I thought you looked rather difficult.” 

"I can not tell. I do not know you. When I 
know you I shall tell you. We shall know each 
other very well very soon. It is so, is it not?” he 
answered. "For three days I stay. In three days 
we shall live a lifetime. In my heart I feel it. The 
heart is never wrong.” 

"It sounds topping!” drawled Vingie. She stared 
at him under half-closed lids, giving him insolence 
for insolence, but he only said: 

"I do not mean to be rude. One can not help but 
know these things.” 

Vingie, a faint color stealing into her cheeks, 
heard the voice of Rupert Frack say emphatically: 

"I do not think we should trust too much to the 
League of Nations, Mr. Janowicz.” 

"Personally,” retorted Mr. Janowicz, raising his 
fine eyebrows, "I do not trust anybody. In love, in 
war, in diplomacy, it is not safe. 

"There is always one who interrupts, is there 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


21 


not?” he went on to Vingie. “You who are beauti¬ 
ful have doubtless noticed it. Presently we shall 
go where no one interrupts. For me there is no one 

but you in this house. For such as these-” his 

glance indicated Sir Charles, Rupert, Lord Fording- 
bridge—“I have provided Misch. There are always 
such people and there is always a Misch. It is the 
elementary justice of Providence.” 

“Mr. Janowicz,” answered Vingie slowly, “I 
think you have very simple and beautiful ideas. 
Perhaps after dinner I will show you the rose- 
garden by moonlight. It isn’t everybody who would 
understand or appreciate the rose-garden by moon¬ 
light, but you’re different. Your soul isn’t common¬ 
place. As a rule men are deaf and dumb and blind 
to the finer things of life. Don’t you agree?” 

“It is exactly what I would have said myself,” 
declared Mr. Janowicz, gazing scornfully at Sir 
Charles, Rupert, Lord Fordingbridge and Mr. 
Misch. 

When eventually Vingie left the table, Mr. Jano¬ 
wicz escorted her to the door with the suppressed 
splendor of a well-trained equerry. Returning to 
his place he made no attempt to conceal profound 
boredom, treating the rest of the party like dirt. 


22 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


At the earliest opportunity he sought Vingie's side. 
She smiled up at him with grace, wisdom and under¬ 
standing. 

“In here we stifle/' he said abruptly. “Let us, if 
you please, seek the rose-garden. We shall find it 
more congenial." 

She stood for one moment, surveying the scene: 
Rupert and Mr. Misch, deep in diplomatic common¬ 
places, Sir Charles and Lord Fordingbridge ab¬ 
sorbed in a game of piquet. Then, on the arm of 
Mr. Janowicz, she passed joyfully amid surround¬ 
ings of roses and romance. 

“For a one-time senior major in the Hussars of 
the Guard mine is a dog's life," he complained. 
“But since the war all things are changed. There 
are no Hussars and no Guard. Still a gentleman is 
always a gentleman. Our prime minister, a worthy 
blacksmith, realizes his shortcomings. He would 
be at a loss with our friends indoors. Hence, 
against his will, he appoints me foreign minister. 
You see, really I am Count Oscar Janowicz, but we 
do not talk of that now. As for this quarreling 
over money, I shall leave it to Misch. He is the sort 
of person who enjoys it." 

“Poor Count Oscar!" murmured Vingie very 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


23 


sweetly. Her satin-shod feet glided silently across 
the velvet lawn in a little romantic dream. The 
tall figure on her left moved with slow and stately 
stride. On his heels tinkled ghostly spurs, at his 
side trailed an invisible sword. 

“Ah! not poor Count Oscar to-night,” he 
exclaimed. “To-night I am the servant of beauty. 
There were never such roses as these roses around 
us, and this moon, which has looked down on a 
myriad lovers, never shone so brightly, and the 
infinite sweetness of this garden was never so sweet 
before. There are moments in life, Virginia—is it 
not so? If they endured longer than a moment we 
could not bear them; we should die of ecstasy.” 

Virginia, standing beneath an arch of pink 
ramblers, pulled down a spray and laid it against her 
cheek. Undoubtedly there was magic abroad. Sud¬ 
denly from a dark mass of trees one crystal note 
pealed out. “Hush!” she exclaimed. “Listen!” 

The bird sang on and on. He may have been sob¬ 
bing out the bitterness of a broken heart, or voicing 
that ecstasy more than a moment of which is intol¬ 
erable. In any case he achieved a desperate result. 

Mr. Janowicz stretched out his sword arm, 
clasped Virginia's hand that still enclosed the spray 


24 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


of pink beauty, and brushed lightly with his lips the 
curve of her bare arm. 

“It is beautiful, that music—yes, but you are the 
most beautiful thing in the world!” he said. 

As Virginia crossed the hall on her way to bed, 
Rupert Frack came out of the smoking-room, saw 
her and frowned. He stood in front of her, barring 
the path. 

“Do you,” he inquired, “altogether approve of 
your behavior with Janowicz this evening?” 

She raised to him the accusing eyes of a hurt 
child and replied gently: 

“He understands me better in one evening than 
you’ve done in a lifetime, Rupert.” 

“How do you know that?” 

“He told me I’m the most beautiful thing in the 
world, and that’s more than you ever did.” 

“If you think that a sufficient reward for a moon¬ 
light flirtation with a stranger-” snarled Rupert, 

but she lifted a restraining hand. 

“You can’t make an omelette without breaking 
eggs and you can’t be an essential amusement with¬ 
out breaking hearts,” she explained, and passed on 
trailing clouds of glory. 


II 


OU are doing well, my child. Continue, for 



A Rupert tells me this man Misch is a positive 
Pierpont Morgan in financial matters. Continue, I 
beg of you/' besought Lord Fordingbridge furtively 
at breakfast. 

Vingie smiled. Men are so simple to a pretty 
girl. 

At eleven o’clock Lord Fordingbridge, Sir 
Charles and Mr. Janowicz stepped forth from the 
council chamber to find Vingie playing with a fox 
terrier on the lawn. She stood up slender and ap¬ 
pealing, perfect from head to foot, and Mr. Jano¬ 
wicz came to her as the needle to the magnet. 

“It is impossible for the present. Misch and your 
Mr. Frack are examining the details,” he announced. 

“There is a little island about three miles off the 
coast. Would you like to picnic there with me?” 
she tempted. 

He followed her down the cliff path, a servant 
placed the luncheon basket in a motor-boat lying 


25 


26 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


alongside the slipway, and Vingie politely refused 
a passage to several well-meaning detectives. 

“There are lines in the locker. Fish!" she com¬ 
manded Mr. Janowicz, and steered seaward across 
the bay she had known from babyhood. 

He put out two lines and caught one bass and five 
mackerel. Then he rested and gazed pensively at 
Vingie who sat with sleeves rolled up and the tiller 
under her arm listening idly to the beat of the 
engine. 

“I love you, Virginia," he said at last. 

Her mouth curved into a smile and her eyes met 
his perfectly unembarrassed. 

“You don't do anything of the kind, Oscar. You 
mean I'm pretty, and I attract you, and you're rather 
miserable and I make you happier, and you kissed 
my arm yesterday and we listened to bird-songs in 
the moonlight, and it all stimulated your emotions. 
I've had that effect on lots of men and they all said 
they loved me, but they didn’t any more than you 
do. We shall be great pals these three days and 
then you'll go home and forget all about it." 

“You are not astonished that I love you—not 
afraid?" he asked in surprise. 

“I'm not afraid of anybody, and if you weren’t 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


27 


attracted I should be a little disappointed. I ex¬ 
pected you to be, up to a point. But people don’t 
love quite so easily. It takes time, and a certain 
amount of sacrifice. Love and adversity go to¬ 
gether. Didn’t you know that?” 

“But you know so much! How do you know?” 

“ ’Cause I’m a girl and not a man. Get out the 
boat-hook and go forward and hook on to that rock 
when I run alongside. It’s the only bit of deep 
water where we can land.” 

She wedged the kedge anchor between two bould¬ 
ers, paid out the painter, and led him over the rocks 
to a little sandy bay. Manlike he insisted on clean¬ 
ing the fish and cooking them in the Jugo-Czechian 
manner. Vingie sat and watched him dreamily. 
Finally he offered certain charred fragments on a 
plate. 

“There should, of course, be olives, and paprika, 
and a touch of garlic, and a squeeze of orange juice, 
and a sauce made with white wine, and these are the 
wrong kind of fish. But otherwise you have here 
our great national delicacy,” he explained. 

Silently Vingie indicated the luncheon basket— 
chicken and salad, strawberries and cream, hock cup, 
petits fours, cigarettes, coffee. 


28 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


The golden sunshine blessed them as they lay on 
the sand in perfect idleness. Across a three-mile 
strip of blue Mr. Misch and Rupert Frack labored 
dismally to evolve a formula. 

“Oscar,” murmured Vingie at last, “you aren't 
amusing me. Isn't there anything interesting in 
your country except fried fish?” 

His eyes dwelt on her fair face, golden brown 
beneath the sun. “I was thinking of the days when 
we shall be married,” he answered. 

“But we shall never be married, Oscar.” 

He laughed. “I have told you I love you. What 
else should we do but marry ?” 

“You forget,” she said, “that I don't want to 
marry you in the least. I don't want to marry any 
one. Why should I?” 

“Marriage is the logical end of love.” 

“I know marriage often does end love, logically 
or otherwise, Oscar, but I'm not in love with you, so 
there's no need to end it.” 

He got up, clicked his heels and bowed cere¬ 
moniously. 

“I have offered you marriage formally. Made¬ 
moiselle; you choose to be flippant, and so I am in 
honor bound to terminate my mission here and 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


29 

return to my own country. This is an affront I have 
not deserved.” 

She stretched out a hand and smiled up at him. 
“Don’t be beastly to me, Oscar. You know I 
didn’t mean to hurt you. Please forgive me and sit 
down and let’s be friends. I wanted you to have 
such a happy day.” 

The fretful expression faded from his face. 
Laughing, he flung himself down on the sand. 

“ ‘Lay by my side your bunch of purple heather. 
The last red asters of an autumn day, 

And let us sit and talk of love together 
As once in May/ ” 

he quoted. “I will be very good and very devoted, 
Virginia, and by and by, before I go, I will ask 
you again.” 

Late that night Vingie drifted like a wraith into 
the smoking-room where Sir Charles and Rupert 
sat drinking whisky-and-soda. Lord Fordingbridge, 
in a corner, bowed his fine head over an obstinate 
game of Patience. Vingie sank wearily into an 
armchair and passed a hand over her brow. 

“I wish Pd never seen your Janowicz man,” she 


30 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


announced. “Only Mr. Misch, who insisted on a 
good-night talk with him, saved me from hysterics. 
I gave him a rose, which he placed against his heart 
and fled. I hope Rupert has had extraordinary luck 
with Mr. Misch. I should like some one to be 
pleased." 

“Misch," retorted Rupert wearily, “is a perfect 
fool. He insists on a loan of fifty thousand million 
kronen instead of thirty and talks a lot of nonsense 
about a sphere of influence on the Adriatic lit¬ 
toral." 

“Did I tell you, Vingie, that the Lovelace filly 
was unplaced in the three o'clock race yesterday?" 
inquired Sir Charles with a little sigh. “She was 
well up while Knave of Hearts made the running, 
but when he collapsed half-way and Simpson called 
on her for a final effort she failed to respond. On 
her previous form she ought to have won in a 
canter by five lengths at least." 

Lord Fordingbridge shuffled his cards together 
and shook his head. 

“I shall never get out Miss Milligan unless I 
cheat," he complained. “I've tried every night for 
the last thirty years, but it always goes wrong 
somewhere." 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


3i 

“Is Janowicz married ?” demanded Vingie of 
Rupert. 

“No. Why?” 

“From a woman’s point of view there are about 
a hundred thousand reasons why, but it would take 
all night to tell you them, and I’m going to bed. 
That doesn’t make it any the less annoying,” she 
snapped, and departed, leaving chaos behind her. 

Sir Charles yawned politely behind his hand. 

“If there were any publicity connected with this 
affair now would be the time to issue a statement 
saying that we were all in perfect accord over every¬ 
thing,” he murmured. 

In the morning after breakfast, Vingie gave way 
to panic. 

“If I don’t get out of this atmosphere I shall go 
mad,” she murmured, and zigzagged feverishly 
from tree to tree until, coming to the avenue gates, 
she passed out and began to walk along the main 
road. Cheerful rustics at work in the fields, an oc¬ 
casional tradesman’s cart passing by, soothed her 
restless nerves. It all seemed so normal. 

Barely two hundred yards on her way she found 
a stationary car, its bonnet uplifted in an attitude 
of surrender. Upon the running-board sat what 


32 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


was obviously a nice man, engaged in filling a pipe. 
His stocky figure adorned a suit of comfortable old 
clothes and when he saw Vingie he smiled joyously, 
thankful for the perfect vision thus early in the day. 
With the confidence of youth Vingie smiled back 
and stood still before him in the sunshine. 

“Is it anything very bad ? Shall I ask one of our 
chauffeurs to help?” she asked kindly. 

The nice man, who had risen and lifted his hat 
in salutation, shook his head. 

“I’m afraid my little car has a diplomatic illness, 
Miss Lauriston,” he confessed after a careful glance 
at Vingie. “You see I rather hoped you’d come 
along.” 

“Why? Do I know you?” 

The nice man shook his head again. 

“But I’d rather it were you than Mr. Janowicz,” 
he amplified, looking steadfastly at the pipe in his 
fingers. 

“Mr. Janowicz? I don’t understand!” said Vin¬ 
gie in a faint voice. Officially, only four people 
were aware of Mr. Janowicz’s arrival. She sat 
down on the running-board of the deceitful car and 
propped her chin in her hands. After a second’s 
hesitation the nice man sat down beside her. 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


33 


“If you’ll promise not to tell I’ll put all my cards 
on the table,” he coaxed. “I’m George Berriman, 
foreign editor of the Daily Tale. I’m taking a little 
holiday in these parts and I thought if I had a 
breakdown close to your gates some one would come 
out or go in who might make a story. I knew you 
by sight, of course, from your pictures. We gen¬ 
erally call you 'the charming young society beauty.’ 
I’m rather interested in the Jugo-Czechian situa¬ 
tion.” 

“But people don’t know-” 

“You mustn’t say 'people.’ There are no people, 
only readers and potential readers,” rebuked Mr. 
Berriman. “Of course, I know all about Janowicz. 
One of my correspondents saw him get into his 
aeroplane, and another saw him get out, and I could 
tell you the number of the car that brought him 
down here. But I’d love a few personal touches. 
He’s an interesting fellow. He married a nobody be¬ 
fore the war and offended Court circles very badly.” 

“But he isn’t married!” 

Mr. Berriman smiled pityingly. 

“He married Fritzi Pogany, the cabaret dancer, 
in 1914, when she was only sixteen years old. She’s 
rather good-looking if I may say so.” 



34 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


Vingie sat up, and held out a dramatic hand. 

“Give me a cigarette!” she commanded. “I knew 
it all the time, but Rupert swore he wasn’t. You 
can always tell. The married ones are so charming 
and docile and pathetic. And yet he asked me to 
marry him—carried away by his feelings, I s’pose. 
This is absolutely confidential, of course.” 

“Perfectly,” agreed Mr. Berriman. “The thing 
is, what have they decided? We love an exclusive 
story in the Daily Tale. Mind, I’m not trying to 
tempt you, because it would be useless as well as 
unpardonable, but the news must be given to the 
world somehow. Anything we could do in return 
—I suppose our ordinary rates wouldn’t appeal to 
you, even the high prices we pay for a scoop, but 
perhaps you have a pet charity, or a worthy cause 
which we could assist?” 

Vingie turned to Mr. Berriman and smiled at 
him so adorably that even his iron nerve shook 
slightly. 

“You’ve helped me a great deal this morning 
without knowing it,” she said. “I feel strong and 
calm again. I’ll do as much for you if I can. 
Where are you staying?” 

“They make me very comfortable down in the 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


35 


village, at the White-faced Goat. The telephone 
number is twelve. You can rely absolutely on my 
discretion.” 

She got up, took a little puff and mirror from 
her wrist-bag and powdered her face. 

“Good-by. I’ll remember,” she said and walked 
back thoughtfully to the house. 

She met Rupert pacing the avenue, his face pale, 
his mouth set. Although she found much in his 
character to criticize, and considered him unsuitable 
as a husband, and felt particularly annoyed because 
he had never offered himself in that capacity, and 
saw infinite shortcomings in his personality it would 
be most fascinating to remedy, somehow he aroused 
her maternal instinct. 

“What’s the matter, my dear old thing?” she in¬ 
quired kindly. 

Rupert jerked his head passionately. 

“A deadlock. The whole business is finished. 
They won’t budge. All our trouble is wasted. 
Complete failure, and Fordingbridge is furious.” 

“Why? It’s as much his fault as yours.” 

“But he left Misch to me, and I worked out the 
entire scheme,” said Rupert Frack dismally. 

“If I saved you, what would you think?” asked 


36 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


Vingie, a benevolent smile softening her young 
mouth, a warm glow of charity and good will steal¬ 
ing through her veins. 

“I should think I was dreaming and expect to 
wake up with a thud!" answered Rupert, bitterly 
sarcastic. 

Vingie turned on him like a wildcat. 

“Then I'll do it—not because I care what happens 
to you, but just to show I've got more brains than 
a great thick-headed, commonplace, unattractive 
lump like you!" she stormed and left him limp with 
amazement. 

Oscar sat on the lawn smoking a Russian cigarette, 
staring gloomily into the distance. He rose and 
bowed philosophically. 

“A diplomatic tempest rages, but you come as 
sunshine piercing the clouds," he said. “Virginia, 
you are more adorable than ever. I can not begin 
to describe it. Please sit down and let us talk about 
your hair, and your eyes, and the curve of your 
cheek when you laugh." 

“I can't stop," she answered, not half so annoyed 
with him as might be supposed, “but will you please 
ride with me after lunch? There's something I 
want to tell you." 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


37 


In a green path amid pine woods Vingie reined 
in her mare, slid from the saddle and stood, a slight 
boy-girl figure, in beautiful breeches, long mahog¬ 
any-tanned boots, linen coat and felt riding hat. 
She gave the reins to Oscar, seated herself on a 
fallen tree-trunk and flicked a spurred heel thought¬ 
fully with her cutting whip. 

He tethered the beasts and stood looking at her; 
sunlight glinted through the branches and a mid¬ 
summer hush lay all around. 

“Sit down,” she commanded. “I want to talk. 
Do you remember asking me to marry you, 
Oscar?” 

“It is hardly a thing one would forget, Virginia.” 

“Why did you?” 

“Because you are the most beautiful person in the 
world. I love you, and marriage is the logical end 
of love.” 

“You know perfectly well we shall never be 
married.” 

“Why not?” 

Vingie laid the whip across her knees and looked 
at him. 

“Because you’re married already!” 

He sat up rigidly beside her and went very pale. 


38 VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 

“But how did you know? No one knows!” he 
exclaimed. 

“To Fritzi Pogany, in 1914. She was sixteen 
and very pretty. A cabaret dancer, I understand. 
Oscar, is there any reason why I shouldn’t hit you 
across the face with this?” She bent the cutting 
whip idly between gloved fingers. 

“You don’t understand. It was a ridiculous 
mesalliance. I had intended to dissolve this mar¬ 
riage, which was hopeless from the first. No one 
would have known.” 

“Oscar,” said Vingie icily, “do you realize you’re 
talking to me and not to a scullery-maid? Am I 
likely to want you after Fritzi’s finished with you? 
Am I likely to want you at all? Believe me, I’m 
not.” 

“These diplomatic difficulties are solely on ac¬ 
count of you,” he explained wearily. “Misch has 
been haggling on my instructions. I was perfectly 
content with Lord Fordingbridge’s original offer. 
To-night I should have asked formally for us to be 
betrothed, and in honor of that the concession would 
have been made.” 

Vingie’s mouth quivered at the corners; she be¬ 
gan to giggle; finally she went off into peals of 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


39 


laughter. At last she became calm, laid a small 
affectionate hand on her companion’s shoulder and 
delivered her judgment. 

“Listen, Oscar! You must give way just the 
same. If you don’t I shall be obliged to tell Sir 
Charles everything, and that will be most unpleasant 
for you. Remember, we’ve spent three whole days 
together, which require some explanation. Offi¬ 
cially, I’ve been talking you over to our side.” 

He drew himself up very haughtily. “I can not 
eat my words in that fashion. Even the foreign 
minister of a post-war republic has his feelings.” 

“Even I have mine if it comes to that, Oscar. Of 
course we’ll save your face to an extent. You shall 
have favorable notices in the papers and perhaps a 
decoration. But remember, by dinner time all this 
must be settled, and I want you to do it through 
Mr. Frack. I have a reason for this. Do you 
promise ?” 

Mr. Janowicz then behaved in very handsome 
fashion. He rose, clicked his heels and bowed cour¬ 
teously. 

“Miss Lauriston,” he said, “although I speak as 
a soldier it is no disgrace to surrender to the most 
beautiful girl in the world.” 


40 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


It was, in effect, as if the Hussars of the Guard 
went by in column of sections and Major Count 
Oscar Janowicz at their head gave the command: 
“Carry—suds! Eyes—right!” 

Vingie, also rising, lifted her ineffable mouth. 

“Rather a darling, aren’t you?” she murmured. 
“You may kiss me just once, if you like, Oscar.” 

They had dined ceremoniously. They had drunk 
to the success of the negotiations. The Jugo- 
Czechian mission had retired to pack; Vingie sat 
alone in the drawing-room. Presently Lord Ford- 
ingbridge entered, and closed the door quietly. He 
moved across to Vingie sitting in the shadows and 
smiled. 

“You did very well,” he said at last. 

“It was all luck. I hope you give Rupert proper 
credit. He worked very hard.” 

“Does he—er—mean a great deal?” 

“I don’t know. He’s very immature. Not for 
years and years anyhow. He means well. There’s 
the foreign editor of the Daily Tale staying 
in the village. May he have special facilities? He 
gave me the key to the whole thing. I half 
promised-” 



VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


4i 


"Just as you wish.” 

"And Oscar has his decoration?” 

"I shall advise the prime minister.” 

Vingie nodded. “I'm so tired. Do you mind 
sending me Rupert?” 

She watched his stately departure deep in thought. 
She hardly noticed the advent of Rupert Frack. 

"Well,” she said at last. "I s'pose you hate me. 
A man always loathes owing success to a girl.” 

"No, Virginia, I’m very grateful. You were most 
generous. I apologize for my rudeness this after¬ 
noon. I was extremely worried.” 

He stood awkwardly before her, a little grim, 
terribly sincere, as if strange emotions began to 
work subtly in his soul. She reached out a slender 
hand and touched his. 

"All right, old boy. I’m glad you’re glad. Lord 
F’s very pleased with you. Do ask Charles to come 
and see me.” 

She sat in the half light until the door clicked 
a third time, and Sir Charles sauntered across the 
room, his spirit ever lilting to hidden triumphant 
music. She made room for him on the settee, and 
stared at him out of perplexed eyes. 

"Charles,” she pleaded at last, "tell me the riddle 


42 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


of life. I’ve won my game and now I’m as flat 
as yesterday’s soda-water.” 

Sir Charles crossed one knee over the other and 
clasped it gently. 

“The struggle is like wine and achievement is 
death,” he answered. “Also you have hazarded 
your heart a very little and that’s fatal in diplo¬ 
macy. As I said before, a suitable marriage is so 
much better-” 

Vingie placed a finger gently on his lips. 

“I’ve sowed my first wild oat,” she announced 
joyfully, “but only the first. Marriage, did you 
say? Oh, Charles, think rather of all the other 
little oats to come!” 


Ill 



iHE town house of Lord Fordingbridge stands 


JL in Belgrave Square, guarded by pillars de¬ 
vised from cannon captured at Waterloo. Period¬ 
ically their dumb muzzles gape upward to an awn¬ 
ing of red and white stripes and a crimson carpet 
splashes the white steps between, and runs, like the 
lilting blood of youth, across the drab pavement to 
the white-washed curb. Gilded coach and stately 
barouche drew up, in their day, to set down the love¬ 
liest girls of all time, in panniered skirts and crino¬ 
lines, patched and powdered and jeweled; a dozen 
generations of satin slippers have kissed the great 
staircase, and the tiniest proudest feet have starred 
the ballroom floor. 

So also, one perfect post-war Georgian night, 
limousine after limousine sighed to the white strand 
between the somber cannon, and from their soft 
depths curved maidens in strait and narrow gowns, 
with little proud bobbed heads and piquant painted 
faces. They came of a guest list hedged in and 
thrice refined; Lord Fordingbridge, Principal Sec- 


43 


44 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


retary of State for Foreign Affairs, was giving a 
dance for Charles William Albert Victor, Duke of 
Sussex. 

Vingie had ceased for a moment her inspired 
movements to the strains of London's smartest 
dance band; she stood chatting light-heartedly to 
Sir Charles. He passed a hand thoughtfully over 
his gray hair, and glanced with affection at his 
trim figure and neat feet. Then he said, shaping 
his words with clean-cut lips under a mustache no 
barbarian hand had ever shaved: 

“Thank God, I grew up when I did! I’ve had 
sixty very good years, and I’m spared being a young 
man in this horrible period.” 

Vingie smiled straight into his eyes. 

“You'll never be old, Charles, darling,” she 
drawled in her clear modern voice. “You've got 
the heart of a child and the experience of a life¬ 
time. That's the beauty of being a man. At your 
age I shall have the greed of a flapper and the face 
of a hag. You mustn’t grumble at the period; little 
Vingie’s having an awf'ly good time.” 

“Ah, Virginia, you forget your advantages. Re¬ 
member, I brought you up from the age of sixteen, 
and trained you in tfye pursuit of your natural prey 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


45 


—men. It’s been such a beautiful relationship; not 
being your father I never had to pose as a moral 
freak, and not being my daughter you’ve never had 
to lie to me. Perhaps you even respect me a little.” 

“I do, Charles, darling. You’re so delightful to 
women and they must have nearly killed you teach¬ 
ing you how.” 

“Remember there’s no use trying to stand alone; 
acting for the films, swimming the Channel, and 
playing lawn tennis like a professional are simply 
vanity and vexation of spirit. They pass with youth 
but a husband remains, because he can’t get away.” 

Virginia sighed very faintly. 

“I shall never love any one like you, Charles. I 
adore gray hair; it means so much; think of all the 
experience that turned it gray. The wild oats of 
one’s youth are the comfort of one’s old age; you 
dream about them, cuddling your three hot-water 
bottles beneath your five eiderdowns after your 
nurse has brought you your cup of peptonized milk 
and left you for the night. I insist on wrecking 
at least several lives while I’m still pretty enough.” 

“Who is that young person dancing with the 
duke? She moves exactly like a camel,” inter¬ 
rupted Sir Charles. 


46 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


“That's Betty Keswick. Rather a sporting kid; 
she’s flown over the German lines in an aeroplane 
and driven from New York to Seattle in a Ford car. 
I’m awf’ly glad he’s got her; he’s been dancing a 
lot with me, and I don’t move like a camel. It all 
helps.” 

A tall lank figure moved awkwardly through the 
crowd of dancers in the general direction of Vingie 
and Sir Charles. His face wore a strained, un¬ 
earthly smile, and he exchanged a difficult word of 
greeting with this and that person; there seemed 
about him a spiritual angularity that matched his 
gaunt ungraceful limbs. An observant stranger 
would have accused him of a high purpose and a 
low co-efficient of sociability. 

“There’s poor Rupert,” murmured Sir Charles 
dreamily. “Not exactly a beau sabreur and Heaven 
help him in the drawing-room, but he’ll have the 
premiership and a peerage some day. Perfectly 
ruthless over work; people may loathe him, but 
they won’t be able to do without him; some other 
girl will have him if you don’t.” 

Vingie’s straight little nose wrinkled delicately* 

“Rupert will always appear a little better than he 
should be and I shall never seem quite so good as 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


47 

I am. Poppaea, or Ninon de l’Enclos or Queen 
Elizabeth is more my style.” 

"My dear, there are always Guardsmen and aides - 
de-camp and attaches and things for sentimental 
distraction, but the wind bloweth over them and 
they are gone.” 

Rupert approached and smiled with slight bitter¬ 
ness at Vingie, and his uncle, Sir Charles. 

"The duke is leaving,” he announced, much as he 
might have said, "the world is coming to an end.” 

Sir Charles raised his eyebrows. "So early? It’s 
only half past eleven. Has Fordingbridge annoyed 
him, or is it fatigue? Or perhaps he has to lay a 
foundation stone very early in the morning. The 
cares of state are most exacting.” 

"Fordingbridge is at his wits’ ends,” answered 
Rupert calmly, although he did not seem calm. "So 
am I; so is everybody who knows anything. It isn’t 
the fact that he’s leaving, but what lies under the 
surface. It means that we haven’t finished with the 
old trouble; there’s more to come. I could very 
nearly weep.” 

Vingie looked at him with gentle eyes. 

"My poor Rupert, they aren’t going to be cross 
with you, are they? It can’t be your fault. Tell 


48 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


us about it! I think you suppress things too much; 
it’s bad for you, and besides we’d love to help.” 

“I’d rather die,” declared Rupert simply, “than 
breathe a word of anything that matters in this 
place.” He looked round scornfully. “All this 
froth—this butterfly mob—selfish, pleasure-loving, 
insincere. Candidly, Virginia, I merely came as a 
matter of duty, to help the chief. There’s a month’s 
work on my desk at the Foreign Office.” 

“Tut, tut,” soothed Sir Charles. “My dear fellow, 
you mustn’t get upset. Nothing’s so bad that it 
couldn’t be worse. Let’s go home and talk the mat¬ 
ter over if it worries you. I dare say Virginia will 
excuse us. There are a dozen people who’d chap¬ 
eron her—if it’s necessary nowadays.” 

Vingie yawned attractively behind a pink palm. 

“I’ve danced with the duke. I don’t want to 
dance with anybody else. I hate second best. Come 
along, Charles, and let’s take the poor boy away.” 

As they turned to go, Lord Fordingbridge passed. 
His rubicund, genial face seemed less gay than of 
old. 

“Well, well,” he said with a fine effort, “youth 
will be served. He was deuced nice about it, but 
I suppose our troubles have begun again, Rupert, 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


49 

my boy. The devil take all women—if you’ll for¬ 
give me, Virginia.” 

“Ah!” commented Sir Charles, with complete 
understanding. 

“Exactly. Tell you about it in the morning. Ask 
me to lunch, Charles—thanks, my dear fellow. 
Rupert, you have my permission to give them a bare 
outline—the barest possible. Good night, my dear.” 

He raised Vingie’s fingers to his lips, and saunt¬ 
ered away keeping a brave face. A powdered foot¬ 
man called Sir Charles’ car. Vingie, he and Rupert 
entered the vehicle and whirred silently through 
the darkness to Sir Charles* town house in Park 
Street. Only Vingie hummed faintly a seductive 
fox-trot, the last she had danced with the duke. 
She thrived, like all women, on trouble and the 
clash of fates. 

The somber dignity of the library woke at the 
click of a switch to subdued radiance. Vingie, 
shrugging back her cloak, poised her imponderable 
young beauty in a deep armchair, to sip hot milk 
reflectively. Sir Charles sat opposite, savoring his 
whisky-and-soda; Rupert Frack stood with his back 
to the fireplace like a figure of doom. 

“Well, Rupert?” hinted Sir Charles at last. 


50 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


“Shall I go to bed?” inquired Vingie, without the 
faintest intention of doing any such thing. 

Rupert Frack dragged at his tie, making it even 
more crooked than usual. 

“The difficulty concerns a certain personage in 
whose honor a ball was given by a secretary of 
state. The personage should have stayed till the 
end, or almost the end. Only a most pressing en¬ 
gagement could have called him away. He had no 
official engagement whatever.” 

“Inconsiderate young monkey,” murmured Sir 
Charles politely. 

“No,” objected Rupert Frack, “the personage is 
most kind and considerate. That makes matters 
worse. Only a tremendous influence could have 
caused him to show neglect toward his host. It 
has been arranged that this personage is to marry 
in the near future. The name of the lady is ab¬ 
solutely secret, but I may say she was present at 
the ball. There were two hundred ladies invited 
so I am not giving anything away. This fact in¬ 
tensifies the danger of the situation. What, I ask 
you, could have induced the personage to behave as 
he did?” 

Vingie stretched out her hand to a cigarette box. 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


5i 

Sir Charles rose and struck a match for her. 
Rupert stared gloomily before him. 

“Obviously,” murmured Vingie through a little 
cloud of scented smoke, “there's another attraction. 
I'm not surprised. The—er—personage is very 
young. He's like me; he wants to sow a wild oat 
or two before settling down.” 

“I quite agree. Most human—in his case at any 
rate,” observed Sir Charles. “It's rather stupid of 
him to neglect George Fordingbridge-” 

“Sh! sh! No names, I beg of you!” besought 
Rupert. 

“-but there's nothing to worry about. And 

I don't see what on earth it has to do with the 
Foreign Office.” 

“The appalling fact is that he insists on marry¬ 
ing the attraction. The Foreign Office is concerned 
because the attraction is of alien nationality,” said 
Rupert bitterly, and drained his glass with the air 
of a man swallowing poison. 

“Not a Ger-” began Vingie. 

“As the personage served throughout the war in 
the Royal Horse Artillery I should imagine not. 
Otherwise, the situation hasn’t a redeeming fea¬ 
ture.” 





52 


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'Well,” commented Sir Charles at last, smiling 
the tolerant smile of many fruitful years, “he can’t 
marry her so it won’t last. Either he’ll get tired 
of it or she will. I should suggest giving him 
plenty of rope and folding your hands. ’Tisn’t as 
if he were a private individual and could run off 
and be married on the quiet.” 

“There have been morganatic marriages. They 
could elope to the lady’s own country and then who’s 
to stop them? I disagree with you, Uncle Charles.” 

“Who is the girl?” 

Rupert’s jaw set like a trap. 

“I regret that it is absolutely impossible for me 
to tell you. Perhaps the chief when he lunches here 
to-morrow—that’s a matter for his discretion. I 
couldn’t take the responsibility.” 

“Oh, poof!” scoffed Vingie, rising lightly to her 
feet. “You’re the most fearful old grannie, Rupert; 
I’ve simply been sitting up to hear who she is. I 
might have been asleep by now. Night-night, 
Charles, darling!” 

She kissed him gently on the cheek, gave Rupert 
Frack the mere tips of her fingers, and Sir Charles 
held the door for her. He closed it firmly and went 
back to his armchair. 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


53 


“I'm very sorry for you, but in this poisonous 
age even young men don’t know how to manage 
their love-affairs, or p’r’aps it’s the young women. 
Anyway you’ve all my good wishes,” he observed. 
“Would you mind handing me the volume of Shake- 
spear from the table as you go out?” 

Rupert complied, hesitating. 

“I should like to run over with you the historic 
precedent of the situation—that of the Austrian 
archduke and others,” he began, but Sir Charles 
shook his head. 

“You’d better go along and get some sleep. I al¬ 
ways read for an hour to compose my mind,” he 
replied politely but very firmly. “Good night, 
Rupert! See you in the morning.” 

Reluctantly Rupert went his way. Sir Charles 
sat with his book on his knee, deep in reflection. 
Finally, he shook his head. 

“Marriage—always marriage,” he said at last. 
“I wonder what attraction they see in it. I could 
never find any, and I am a fairly intelligent man.” 

Vingie awoke to perceive one baby sunbeam 
stealing through her chintz curtains, and stretched 
two white arms adorable with little blue veins, 
made happy cooing noises and glanced at a gold 


54 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


and enamel traveling clock by her bedside. It in¬ 
dicated the hour of seven thirty-five. At eight 
precisely Mary came bringing tea and letters. As 
she slit envelope after envelope a frown creased 
Vingie’s velvet brow. The contents of the envelopes 
displayed a miserable monotony, alike of matter 
and style. For the most part they read: 


“Madam: 

“We beg to draw your attention to your account, 
now long overdue, and would be greatly obliged by 
a check at your earliest convenience. 

“Thanking you for your esteemed patronage in 
the past, trusting to receive a continuance of your 
favors in the future, and assuring you of our best 
attention at all times, 

“We remain, 

“Your obedient servants, 

“for Dash & Blank Limited. 

“Henry Blank.” 

“What a curse poverty is!” snarled Vingie ma¬ 
levolently. “How can I keep bodice and skirt to¬ 
gether on a mere pittance of a thousand a year? 
It’s hopeless to ask Charles for anything; the dar¬ 
ling’s just as hard up as I am. Mary, what do you 
do when your debts positively suffocate you?” 

Mary shook her attractive head and smiled. 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


55 


“I can see anybody trusting me, miss!” she 
answered. “When you’ve got no money you have 
to pay cash. It’s only rich people who can afford 
to owe.” 

“Well, put out the tete de negre marocain frock 
with cerise piping. Lord Fordingbridge is coming 
to lunch. I may be able to sell him my brains if 
they’re done up in an attractive wrapping. I want 
my very thinnest silk stockings, and a decent hanky 
in case I have to cry. It’s rather fatal to cry over 
a man, but beggars can’t be choosers.” 

She flung back the blankets, sat on the edge of 
the bed and considered her little pink feet gloomily. 

“You won’t have any soles between you and the 
pavement one day if you’re not clever,” she ended. 
“Make the most of those silk stockings, my dears. 
His lordship still has an eye for a decent ankle, they 
tell me.” 

His said lordship, who had never officially recog¬ 
nized the existence of the internal combustion en¬ 
gine, though condescending to use a car for long 
journeys, arrived to luncheon driving himself in a 
pair-horse phaeton, his gray tall hat slightly on one 
side, a specimen of the obsolete buttonhole in the 
lapel of his coat. It was observed that he patted 


56 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


both horses a trifle absently, and crossed the pave¬ 
ment with anxiety in his slow gait Within doors 
he rallied, bowed gracefully over Vingie’s little 
hand, chatted genially across the luncheon table, 
teased Rupert with kindly toleration, exchanged 
anecdotes with Sir Charles. 

Vingie, more by virtue of her eyes than any word 
of mouth, gathered him to her as a hen gathers her 
chickens. His sorrows half drowned in their calm 
depths, he observed at length, deliberately: 

“Excellent bit of Stilton this, Charles. If Vir¬ 
ginia will allow it perhaps we might all take coffee 
together in the library. I feel like making a clean 
breast of something.” 

There is no better background for beige silk 
stockings of the most diaphanous weave than a 
Morocco leather armchair. Lord Fordingbridge 
eyed them wistfully, cigar poised half-way to his 
mouth. Sir Charles gazed absently at his liqueur; 
he had weathered so many crises. Rupert’s glance 
ranged round the room like the questing of a hungry 
lion. 

“I s’pose,” said Lord Fordingbridge at last, 
“Rupert put the whole thing in a nutshell like the 
clever fellow he is.” 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


57 


“In a cocoanutshell perhaps,” murmured Vingie. 
“He left out names and dates and descriptions and 
facts. Otherwise we know everything.” 

“Well, I’m only a stupid old man,” apologized his 
lordship, “but the gist of it is the duke’s quite mad 
about a very charming young woman, Mademoiselle 
Diane de Blancheforet, wants to marry her in fact. 
It’s been arranged that he shall marry Lady Celia 
Pytchley, old Loamshire’s girl, and between our¬ 
selves he won’t hear of it. Mademoiselle Diane’s 
French, of course, and that’s where Rupert and I 
come in.” 

Sir Charles’ lip curled. 

“May I suggest that—ah!—it should be made 
worth her while to be a little—er—accommodating 
toward the duke? Probably that would meet the 
situation,” he suggested with delicate irony. 

“You’re a clever fellow, Charles,” murmured Lord 
Fordingbridge admiringly. “Unfortunately she’s a 
lady. She comes of a very old family; she’s very 
highly educated, bit of a musical genius, and so on. 
She plays leading parts in those romantic sort of 
musical shows where you’ve really got to be able to 
sing, but only because she’s poor. She lifts up the 
stage to her own level, she doesn’t sink to meet it. 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


58 

If you sent her a pearl necklace with your love she’d 
drop it in the dustbin and tell you to come round and 
fetch it.” 

“Oh, my dear, how you do make me laugh,” 
sighed Vingie in spite of herself. 

“Well, you know what I mean. But there’s worse 
to come, Virginia. She’s very domesticated. She 
has a little place in Hall Street with just a man and 
his wife and her maid. She goes back after the 
theater and cooks omelettes on a tiny electric grill, 
and the duke goes there and beats the eggs and 
makes the toast. You see, he’s rather overworked 
opening exhibitions and unveiling war-memorials, 
and attending banquets, and to see Mademoiselle 
Diane in an overall breaking eggs into a basin com¬ 
pletely knocks him over. She won’t let him make 
love to her; she just reads Victor Hugo to him and 
then tells him to go home. The poor boy described 
it all to me with tears in his eyes. He says if she 
won’t marry him as he is he’ll retire into private 
life and dog her footsteps till she gives way.” 

“Dogging reluctant footsteps becomes a little 
tedious after a time,” observed Sir Charles. 

Vingie took him up scornfully. 

“No man ever does. If she didn’t want him he’d 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


59 


never get inside her front door, let alone help with 
the cooking. He’s just a nice unspoiled boy and it’s 
a shame.” 

“Perhaps Lady Celia also makes omelettes?” sug¬ 
gested Rupert. 

Lord Fordingbridge made an overwhelming ges¬ 
ture. 

“I may be a very foolish old man, but I can’t see 
her doing it. To me she rather suggests a band and 
a captain’s escort of Life Guards. They’re a cere¬ 
monious lot, the Loamshires. Between ourselves I 
can’t stand ’em at any price.” 

His weary old eyes, with just the remains of a 
certain something in them, turned pathetically on 
Vingie. He was so obviously out of his depth. 
She, who felt the crepe marocain and the translucent 
stockings doing their fell work, smiled back half 
maternally and prepared to launch the attack. 

“Charles, darling,” she began at last, “I think 
Rupert looks dreadfully pale and overdone. Do 
take him for a stroll in the park. George and I will 
just talk. I’ve got one or two things I’d like to say. 
Please?” 

Sir Charles rose obediently. “Come along, 
Rupert,” he commanded. “You lead far too flabby 


6o 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


a life. We will go and look at the ducks on the 
Round Pond." 

Once they were alone ten years fell from the 
shoulders of Lord Fordingbridge. Instead of host¬ 
ess and guest they became girl and man, pretty girl 
and admiring man. 

“How old is Diane?" asked Vingie after a little 
pause. 

“Twenty-four I understand, but you know what 
these French women are—the wisdom of ninety 
and the lure of nineteen." 

“I’m only twenty," murmured Vingie. Without 
a word or a movement she invited his inspection of 
her young loveliness. “I’m not a bit afraid of 
Diane. As a matter of fact it isn’t Diane at all; he 
just thinks it is. It’s what she represents—sim¬ 
plicity, rest, sympathy, peace. He’s nauseated with 
pomp, poor kid. It just happens to be Diane. He’s 
like a child who’s been let loose in a sweetshop. 
She knows, and gives him the exact opposite. Don’t 
you see ?" 

“I do, but I’m no wiser. It takes a woman to 
defeat a woman. I drown in an ocean of mystery. 
I wish you’d throw me a lifebuoy," he replied, pay¬ 
ing her the distracting homage of age to youth. 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


61 


“If you leave it to me I think I can save you,” said 
Vingie thoughtfully. “Unfortunately, I’m so miser¬ 
ably poor I can’t afford to do it for nothing. Be¬ 
sides, I may have to take risks, to play with fire, and 
a girl’s reputation is a very delicate thing. Sup¬ 
pose it were a case for a doctor or a lawyer, his 
fee would be enormous. Pretend I’m an expert in 
heart disease. What is it worth if I cure the duke? 
I’m simply frightened to count the bills on my desk 
at this moment.” 

Lord Fordingbridge sighed resignedly. 

“There is no one more beautiful or more dis¬ 
creet,” he said, as one thinking aloud. “If you can 
avert a first-class scandal undoubtedly it is worth 
a certain amount. There are always means. Ex¬ 
actly how much do you suggest?” 

“Taking everything into consideration, shall we 
say five thousand pounds ?” murmured Vingie in her 
clear caressing voice. 

“Well, one can always starve the Secret Service. 
Have you a plan? Is there anything you want me 
to do?” 

She rose without effort and stood before him, 
hands clasped behind her back, a little smile playing 
round her mouth. 


62 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


“You’re a perfect dear. Can you arrange for 
me to meet him? Could you ask us both to your 
country place ? We mustn’t be seen running about 
town together.” 

“You shall both be my guests at Diss. He ought 
to have a holiday and he owes me too much to 
refuse. It shall be a very small house-party. Will 
that give you an opportunity?” 

He rose also, and bent over her hand. He man¬ 
aged to convey admiration not only for her beauty 
but her brain, not only for her brain but her beauty. 
Lord Fordingbridge, a widower, a diplomat, an ex- 
cavalryman, did this thing, and it took him all his 
time. For a lesser man it would have been quite 
impossible. 

At the ninth tee on Lord Fordingbridge’s private 
golf course, one of the features of Diss Hall in the 
county of Hampshire, William Albert, Duke of 
Sussex, laid down his golf bag and offered Vingie a 
cigarette from a crested gold case. He lighted it 
with a match out of a crested gold match-box, held 
the match to his own cigarette, paused and smiled 
down at her from a height of five feet eleven and 
a half inches. A certain fraction of his heart re- 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 63 

posed at her small brogued feet beside the aban¬ 
doned clubs. 

Vingie raised her eyes to those of William Albert 
and saw a very pleasing young man of twenty-three, 
garbed in tweed jacket and “plus fours.” He had 
the well-kept appearance that goes with perfect 
valeting—the exactly knotted tie, the deftly pinned 
soft collar. From his St. James Street shoes to his 
Jermyn Street cap she approved of him. He had 
a clean-run look, a dependable face and a certain 
tempered liveliness of eye. 

“I think,” said William Albert, “you and I get on 
most awfully well, don’t you?” 

The ninth tee and the ninth green are separated 
by a disused chalk pit. To the sophisticated it is 
but an iron shot, yet requiring a certain amount of 
nerve. Vingie and William Albert paused to con¬ 
trive nerve. 

She glanced up simply, under a simple old-rose 
pull-on hat, and smiled back. She looked almost 
childish in her little silk sweater and pleated skirt. 

“I’m ever so glad you think so,” she answered, 
“because that means you’re quite happy. Now when 
you came down here you looked perfectly miser¬ 
able.” 


64 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


“Nobody could be miserable with you. I don’t 
know what it is—it’s something about you. You 
make me feel as if I couldn’t do the wrong thing if 
I tried. Now when a man feels he’s always doing 
the right thing it bucks him up no end,” explained 
William Albert in his naive masculine way. 

Vingie nodded imperceptibly. She felt rather 
like Foch, Napoleon and Stonewall Jackson rolled 
into one. On the third day of her campaign they 
had tacitly agreed to play without caddies. Captain 
Hamish Duncan, Scots Guards, the duke’s equerry, 
partner of Lady Betty Keswick invited at Vingie’s 
special request, worked out his golfing destiny far 
ahead, far too far off for thought or any prayer. 
They four comprised the house-party, save only 
Lord Fordingbridge and his sister, one of Queen 
Victoria’s earlier god-children. Here on the ninth 
green on the third day the duke cast down his golf 
clubs at her feet, offering cigarettes and homage. 

“Why were you so miserable?” went on Vingie 
in her most crooning voice, moving her head two 
inches to let the sunlight play on her hair. 

He stared thoughtfully across the chalk pit, and 
sighed. 

“I’d nearly forgotten,” he said at last. “Don’t 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


65 


remind me, there’s a dear. I’m having such a good 
time. It’s very like something I said in my speech 
at luncheon when I was made a Liveryman of the 
Worshipful Company of Bow-and-Arrow Makers.” 
He raised his head and went on in one of those 
voices usually reported as audible in the remotest 
parts of the building: 

“ Tt is only when we get away from our daily 
work and come under the sane and sound influence 
of healthy outdoor exercise that we realize the debt 
which we owe to our forefathers who set us an 
example in field sports that I for one am proud to 
follow.’ In other words, we come out here and 
whack golf balls and I get on frightfully well with 
you and push all my troubles into the back of my 
mind. Otherwise I sometimes wonder why I don’t 
go crazy.” 

Vingie glanced covertly at her wrist-watch. It 
registered eleven-thirty a.m. She subsided on a 
sand-box, crossed one knee over the other and 
smoked reflectively. The duke thrust his hands into 
his pockets and surveyed her in deep thought. Evi¬ 
dently conflicting emotions boiled in his brain, for 
he sighed heavily once or twice, threw away the 
cigarette, produced a pipe, blew through it, filled it, 


66 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


lighted it, and clamped his teeth on the stem with 
vise-like grip. 

Vingie looked up straight into his eyes and said 
with the feinted catch in her voice: 

“Of course it's obvious you're in love. Tell me. 
It—doesn't matter.” 

“Love?” echoed the duke bitterly, “what's love? 
And besides, one doesn't talk about one girl to 
another. It isn't done.” 

“Love's the nice cake with which Providence re¬ 
wards us occasionally for enduring the stodge of 
every-day life. It's a layer cake, made with slices 
of heaven and hell alternately, decorated on the top 
with kisses all positively different. Go on; you 
needn't mention any names.” 

He stretched himself on the grass and looked 
steadfastly at nothing. 

“If you were in my shoes,” he began, “and every 
woman you met ran after you, not for yourself but 
for what she might hope to get either socially or 
some other way, and if every day you weren’t open¬ 
ing an exhibition you were inspecting a regiment or 
presiding over the annual meeting of a charity, and 
if your picture were in the papers every day, and 
you had hundreds of uniforms, and were supposed 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


67 


to marry whom you were told, sooner or later, you'd 
get desperate and fall in love on your own account. 
That's what I’ve done, and as far as I can see I 
might as well have murdered the prime minister or 
floated a company on the Stock Exchange. People 
who matter have simply given me hell ever since. 
They wouldn't mind if it were just a grubby little 
amour, a brief blind in return for a bracelet, and 
then finish. But I do love the girl and I want to 
marry her, and she isn’t the type who's—kind don't 
they call it?—in return for a bracelet. Don’t laugh. 
If she were like that I'd run a mile next time I met 
her. She's the only woman who's ever been really 
decent to me, and I adore her, and if people knew 
what we did they'd snigger, in the clever way people 
do snigger who judge every one else by their own 
filthy minds, and jump to only one conclusion, and 
they'd be wrong, damn them.” 

“Give me another cigarette, and don't get cross. 
Tell me what you do and what she’s like.” 

“Very graceful, with a creamy white skin, and 
wonderful eyes I can never understand. Her hair's 
dark and bobbed in a sort of way, only different 
from the way everybody else’s is bobbed.” 

“It would be,” murmured Vingie to her soul. “It 


68 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


always is. Like everybody else’s and yet quite, quite 
different. Quaint things, men!” 

“Her hands are slender and seem to caress the 
things she touches. She moves like no one I ever 
knew. But it’s her mind that’s so wonderful. She 
understands even before one’s spoken; she’s fright¬ 
fully clever, and has read everything, and she’s a 
genius at music. Yet, do you know she leads the 
simplest life and cooks amazing food with her own 
fingers. I go to see her after she’s finished work, 
because she works for her living, and help her make 
an omelette or something, and we have supper to¬ 
gether and she plays to me, and sings perhaps one 
of those enchanting old songs like If I Give You the 
Keys of Heaven, and sometimes she’ll stroke my 
hair and always she’s so sympathetic—that’s the 
most wonderful thing about her; sympathy—and 
then I kiss her hands and go home and feel utterly 
happy, and Hamish Duncan’s waiting for me with 
a list of the next day’s good works.” 

Vingie nodded dreamily. A little tune lilted in 
her brain—nothing articulate, but an impassioned 
paean in honor of frocks dreamed of and frocks to 
come. A golden symbol seemed to hang in the clear 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 69 

blue sky shaped like the figures 5000 followed by 
the word pounds. 

“Surely the gods have delivered him into my hand 
this day,” she thought. “If he had fallen in love 
with her body I could have done nothing, but her 
mind—oh, poof! Who cares for an intellectual 
vamp? Mere suggestion with a suitable back¬ 
ground. The others grab at him, therefore she 
doesn't. Reaction of the mother-complex; he's 
tired and fed up and she leaves his senses alone and 
soothes his nerves. Presently, no doubt—but there 
shan't be any presently.” 

She clasped one knee, gazed at him kindly and 
asked: “How old is she?” 

William Albert came out of a reverie with obvi¬ 
ous reluctance. 

“Twenty-four—just one year older than I am. 
But then she hasn’t any age. She’s the spirit of all 
the Dryads that ever were; she's all youth and yet 
she has the wisdom of eternity, if you understand.” 

Mentally Vingie added the last item to her list, 
drew a line and added them up. The total seemed 
not too formidable. 

“I think I do understand, though you won’t be- 


70 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


lieve it. I think she’s being most frightfully nice, 
and she loves helping you, but are you quite sure 
she’s as much in love with you as you are with her ?” 
With a magnificent effort Vingie prevented her 
chiseled lip from curling and kept even the faintest 
trace of sarcasm out of her voice. “You see,” she 
went on, “in your present mood you want to scrap 
everything, chuck duty to the winds, marry this girl 
—and then what? What will people say about her? 
They mayn’t be very kind. At the best they’ll say 
she oughtn’t to have let you.” 

“If you were I,” said the duke patiently, “and 
saw the gate open and Paradise before you, would 
you walk in or would you turn your back and pro¬ 
ceed in the opposite direction?” 

“Any girl,” flung back Vingie, with a lash in her 
young voice, “can lead you into Paradise if she 
wants to badly enough. We all carry the key, but 
we use it when and for whom we choose. Get that 
fixed in your mind, my young friend. It’s a piece of 
truth not every girl will tell you.” 

“Any girl?” he repeated vaguely. “Any girl? 
Why—that is—you for instance?” 

She looked away. He sat up and gazed very 
earnestly at a young fair girl whose perfect profile 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


7i 


even a man said to be in love might not despise, her 
delicately lovely body posed in careless grace, her 
slender ankles and slim hands irresistible in their 
appeal. He saw, or thought he saw, a tinge of color 
•ebb slowly into one oval cheek. 

“You mean you could—if you wanted-” he 

Stumbled on. 

She turned, smiling at him half-tenderly. 

“I mean, I’d like to try, p’r’aps, before you go 
and get yourself into the most awful mess. I’m not 
in love with you—not yet, at all events, but I do 
think you’re rather a dear, and you seem to know so 
little about girls. You need to discover just a shade 
more before you can be quite fair to the official one 
you don’t want to marry. But I’d have to choose 
my own setting, like your wonderful friend. If 
you’ve a few days to spare, and don’t mind, and 
won’t think me horrid, and won’t tell any one, it 
might be a bit of a revelation to you. Only you 
must realize this isn’t the beginning of a flirtation. 
You’ll have to play straight. Is it a bargain?” 

He got up and held out his hand. He was very 
young, rather a nice boy, and he flushed vivid scarlet 
under the sun-tanned skin, but his eyes were very 
steady. 


72 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


“I think you're a perfect brick," he said. 

The golden symbol of five thousand pounds faded 
utterly from Vingie's sky. She felt suddenly a con¬ 
temptible little beast and tears smarted at the back 
of her eyes. She set her teeth and repeated to her¬ 
self over and over again: “I needn't take a farthing 
of it—I needn't! And I'm only saving him from 
that bobbed haired cat who doesn't care what sort 
of fool he makes of himself as long as she satisfies 
her beastly vanity. God, how I loathe some 
women!" 


IV 

4 /T Y dear kind h° st >” explained Vingie to Lord 

1VA Fordingbridge in a corner of his drawing¬ 
room after dinner, “he’s in love with romance, and 
he thinks he’s in love with her. Men are all chil¬ 
dren. They don’t love us; they love what they think 
we are. If I can persuade him she doesn’t monopo¬ 
lize romance, you’re safe. Do you care to let me 
try?” 

Lord Fordingbridge eyed her very thoughtfully, 
glanced across at the bridge four in the middle dis¬ 
tance and sighed. 

“Perhaps it depends on your idea of romance,” 
he temporized. “We shall be taking a certain 
responsibility. What do you propose?” 

Vingie leaned back in her gilded chair. 

“Diane’s indoor and exotic. I want to be open- 
air and natural. She pretends to be simple; she isn’t 
really. You aren’t simple just because you fool 
about with an omelette. I think a summer camp— 


73 


74 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


just he and I, some older woman to play propriety 
and pYaps one man-servant to do the rough work. 
I'd suggest your sister only her type and generation 
simply couldn't do it. Charles has a perfect house¬ 
keeper, Vokes, getting on for sixty, absolutely dis¬ 
creet and utterly trustworthy. She's known me 
since I was a baby. He can take a chauffeur-valet. 
You’ll never understand—or p'r'aps you will—but I 
want to stage a twentieth century Midsummer 
Night’s Dream. Are you going to trust me? I 
don't think you'd better tell Rupert. He's too con¬ 
ventional." 

She outlined her conversation with the duke. 
“And if you let me have my way I'm going to pro¬ 
duce a very effective climax. And I may have to do 
it just to oblige you, though not if I can help it. 
Financial considerations don't seem in keeping with 
the atmosphere at the moment. Is it a bargain?" 

Still he hesitated. She read his thoughts and 
added: 

“Of course I shall consult Charles first. I never 
do anything without telling him." 

“Well," said Lord Fordingbridge at last, “the 
duke has some leisure in a day or two. He's got a 
shooting estate in Yorkshire remote enough for any- 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


75 

thing if it comes to that. But you’ll be very careful, 
won’t you?” 

“My dear,” replied Vingie in tender mockery, 
“a boy of his age would rather die. They’re perfect 
dragons of respectability if a girl trusts them. Be¬ 
sides, you forget Vokes. But don’t tell Rupert. 
He’d never understand.” 

Rupert had arrived, draped with dispatch boxes, 
in time to make a fourth at bridge. 

At ten o’clock Lord Fordingbridge’s sister dis¬ 
covered, by means of that social telepathy peculiar 
to Queen Victoria’s earlier god-children, that bridge 
began to pall on the duke. In consequence she 
pleaded fatigue, excused herself and retired, re¬ 
moved her transformation, assumed a woolen night¬ 
gown with long sleeves, and slept as only people 
with no nerves and a good conscience do sleep. The 
duke yawned, half closed his eyes at Captain 
Hamish Duncan, made an imperceptible movement 
of the head, and found himself alone with Vingie. 
She still sat in the gilded chair, her hands resting 
lightly on its arms, deep in thought. He stood be¬ 
fore her awaiting his opportunity. 

“Were you serious this morning?” he said at last. 

She turned upon him unfathomable eyes. 


76 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


“If you know a garden of Paradise, I’ll try to be 
your good angel. It sounds to me like a tiny camp 
remote from anywhere. There are only you and I 
and my chaperon and your servant. I’ll leave it to 
you to arrange if you still want it. I shall have to 
go back to town first and collect some kit.” 

“Let’s go and look at my black list and settle 
dates,” he suggested. In a small businesslike room 
they found Captain Duncan methodically dealing 
with correspondence. “Hamish,” announced the 
duke, “I propose to take a holiday. What are our 
bookings for the next few days?” 

The equerry, whistling noiselessly, consulted a 
small red volume. 

“To-morrow there’s a parade of ex-service men. 
Memo: say the right thing to Sergeant Robert 
Smith, aged eighty-five. Wellington shook hands 
with his father, Acting-Bombardier John Smith, 
after the Battle of Waterloo. Except for that you 
appear to be free for a week.” 

He closed the book, replaced it and looked a little 
wistful. 

“If you don’t actually need me I could idle for a 
day or two myself,” he concluded. 

William Albert smiled privately at Vingie. 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


77 


“Run away and play by all means. Invent some 
yarn to account for me. In two days, Hamish, I 
shall, with luck, be out of reach.” 

He turned joyfully to Vingie. 

“In two days,” he repeated. “Leave everything 
to me. In two days the blase stars may look down on 
that which will cause sensation among astronomers.” 

“I’m going up to town,” she answered in the 
manner of one who hears but does not listen. “I 
need to collect a few necessaries and make peace 
with my relations. One tells the right story for fear 
the wrong should get about. You will be ever so 
discreet, won’t you? Remember I’m doing a great 
deal for you.” 

She smiled, and smiling contradicted her words. 
He said good night and watched her move deli¬ 
cately up the great staircase. For a man hopelessly 
in love with some one else the young blood flowed 
through his aristocratic veins not unriotously. 

Much of Sir Charles’ attraction for Vingie lay 
in the fact that he treated her with the devotion of 
a new lover allied to the sureness and experience of 
an old husband. For this reason, in his Park Street 
library, after a very perfect little diner d deux, she 
told him all. 


78 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


“I've collected the right clothes," she murmured 
dreamily, “and the main idea's absolutely cast-iron. 
He doesn't really love Diane; she’s just been very 
clever, but I shall be cleverer still. All the same, 
Charles, I want a partner, a confederate among the 
crowd. Do you want to come to the rescue?" 

“Frankly," declared Sir Charles, “I do not. My 
years and my position forbid it. You, my dear Vir¬ 
ginia, are in the predicament of a secret agent. If 
they succeed they get no reward, and if they fail we 
disown them. They languish in a foreign prison 
and if ever they get out their name is mud. I may 
sympathize privately, but the most I can do publicly 
is to send you on a long voyage to the Far East with 
an impeccable chaperon when your reputation lies 
in tatters on all the dinner tables of Mayfair." 

Vingie slid from her armchair and crept gently 
on to his knee. “I wouldn't compromise you for all 
the world, darling," she murmured, stroking his 
gray hair with caressing fingers. “I know just the 
man for the job—that very charming Mr. Berriman, 
the foreign editor of the Daily Tale who helped me 
once before. He’s perfectly unscrupulous, and so 
adequate." 

“In heaven's name, Virginia, keep away from the 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


79 

newspapers,” implored Sir Charles. “One can’t 
touch pitch without being defiled.” 

Vingie spread out two small pale hands. 

“I pray I may ever keep these unsullied!” she 
said solemnly. “Only lend me Vokes, Charles, and 
if I perish I will never darken your doors again.” 

“You may have Vokes by all means, but try not 
to put a most respectable, faithful servant to the 
blush,” replied Sir Charles a little plaintively. 

In the morning Vingie, all Paris in her summer 
frock, drifted from Sir Charles’ limousine through 
the stern portals of the Daily Tale, eclipsing the 
most divine divorcee that ever lied through her tears 
to a sympathetic special writer. She penetrated via 
the intoxicating hum of giant machines and the faint 
violet smell of printing ink to a calm silent room 
containing one really nice man and many telephones. 

Mr. Berriman laid aside the habitual ferocity be¬ 
fore which correspondents in Brussels, Vienna, and 
even far New York, dwindled and pined, rose from 
his lair amid blue pencils and damp proofs and 
gripped her hand. 

“Thank God it’s only eleven and the rush hasn’t 
begun. If there’s anything in the world I can do 
for you, Miss Lauriston, I shall be so happy. Or 


8o 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


perhaps”—his stocky figure gathered as for a 
spring, and his quiet, good-looking face hardened— 
“perhaps you’ve got news?” 

Vingie shook her head and sank plaintively into a 
chair. 

“I’ve come to you for that. I’m at my last gasp, 
and you helped me once before. Who, what, and 
why is Diane de Blancheforet?” 

Mr. Berriman lifted the receiver of a telephone. 

“Is that the news room?” he inquired. “I want 
Mr. Marsh.” 

Vingie glimpsed curiously the discipline of a 
great paper. The door opened quietly and a young 
man entered. 

“This,” explained her host, “is Mr. Marsh, who 
does the society feature. What do we know of 
Mademoiselle Diane de Blancheforet, Marsh?” 

“She’s one of those weird birds—on the stage 
and yet not of it,” observed Mr. Marsh, like a dis¬ 
tinguished naturalist explaining a rare species. 
“Everybody that is anybody receives her; she 
dresses quietly, lives in a house, not a flat, women 
recognize her, she only runs a very small car, she 
doesn’t go to dance clubs, her credit is good in the 
West End and she pays her own bills. Extremely 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


81 


good-looking and intelligent. I should call her a 
dark horse.” 

“All right, Marsh,” murmured Mr. Berriman, as¬ 
sembling his proofs methodically and ringing for a 
boy to remove them. “And what exactly do you 
want me to do ?” he went on to Vingie with the pain¬ 
ful directness that seemed to her a feature of the 
place. 

“To produce her plausibly at a given place and 
time,” answered Vingie, growing reckless. “If you 
can, you shall be the first to announce whom the 
Duke of Sussex is really going to marry. Is it a 
bargain?” 

“Suppose,” said the imperturbable Mr. Berriman, 
“you tell me the whole story, strictly in confidence.” 

So, looking him straight in the face, she told it. 
His expression never varied by the flicker of an eye¬ 
lash. 

“Probably we know fairly well whom he’ll marry, 
but you and I are only just beginning. One day 
we’ll land a real story,” he said at last. “Anyway, 
I think I can work it. We’ve got a certain stunt 
going—Ts the Country Girl Prettier than the Town 
Girl?’ I might ask her to help judge, and take her 
along to Yorkshire to look at country girls. We can 


82 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


always lose our way. Now I’m afraid I must ask 
you to go. Sorry, but there’s a crisis in the Near 
East. It keeps me rather on the stretch. Remember 
to let me know the date, the place and the time. 
Good-by!” 

She went out thoughtfully in the light of his brief 
smile. In the lift she glanced at her platinum 
diamante wrist-watch. “That took him just five 
minutes. I wonder what he could do in an hour?” 
she mused. Undoubtedly Mr. Berriman had made 
a certain impression. 

At the great entrance of Diss, Rupert, his trousers 
baggy-kneed with distress, stood beside Captain 
Hamish Duncan surveying the chaste outlines of a 
two-seater Rolls-Royce. Lord Fordingbridge, who 
preferred not to be present officially, had laid this 
burden upon him. 

As in a nightmare he beheld Vingie, shrouded in 
a fleece-lined weather-proof, escalade the passen¬ 
ger’s seat. The sporting body being innocent of 
doors, she revealed a certain wealth of silk-veiled 
limbs, to the extreme delight of Captain Duncan, 
and the intense disgust of Rupert. Vingie nestled in 
her padded shell, adjusting a rug with joyous fingers. 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


83 


Hours ahead, harbinger of a brighter convoy, 
Figgis, the duke’s chauffeur, guided a baggage car, 
and by his side sat Vokes, austere with sixty years, 
sublime in decent black. 

The duke gave a last look round, climbed neatly 
to the wheel, took off the side-brake and waved a 
benevolent hand. 

“Well, toodle-oo, every one/’ he said serenely. 

“Pip-pip, sir,” returned the faithful equerry. 

The sweetest clutch in the world took up the 
noiseless drive; with scarce a disturbed pebble they 
glided unstressed away. 

“It is the most appalling error of judgment I ever 
heard of!” said Rupert hollowly. 

“Now, now!” reproved Captain Duncan in his 
soothing fashion. “Try to take the broad view, 
dear old bird. Don’t be mother’s little kill-joy!” 

Vingie glanced lazily at the good-looking profile 
beside her and put her thoughts into words. 

“We’re playing truant from life like two happy 
kids,” she said. “We’d better leave the trappings 
of state in care of Rupert for the time being. I 
think you may call me Vingie, oh, fellow con¬ 
spirator, and I’m going to call you Bill.” 

“My dear Vingie,” replied her princely chauffeur 


84 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


with profound appreciation, “Bill was always my 
middle name.” 

Vingie lay back in murmuring peace. Her soul 
took wings and sought a certain window in the 
Diplomats’ Club where a neat elderly figure, with 
gray thick hair and a Victorian mustache perused 
the Morning Post, a thin-stemmed glass at his 
elbow. 

“Oh, Charles,” she crooned to herself, “you who 
preached marriage to me, how many times have you 
done what I’m doing, you delightful old hypocrite, 
except that my indiscretion’s as innocent as the light 
of day ? How many girls haven’t you eloped with in 
everything from a post-chaise to a hansom cab, and 
told them all how you loved them, with that perfect, 
devastating, far-too-wonderful-for-this-world man¬ 
ner of yours? And yet you threaten me with the 
Far East and a chaperon, you deceitful adorable 
darling. As if even that wouldn’t be worth setting 
my teeth to this delicious stolen fruit!” 

She turned again to the tanned face beside her. 

“Bill,” she announced, “this might be a honey¬ 
moon, but it isn’t.” 

“Don’t” groaned the duke bitterly. 

“It might be an escapade, but it isn’t. I’m going 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 85 

to christen it The Quest of the Young Wild 
Oat’ ” 

They floated on north by east. They flickered 
through a kinematograph film of summer green 
varied by distracting close-ups; the halt in the mar¬ 
ket town at the foot of a fifteenth-century market 
cross while a flock of sheep flowed by; the ten- 
minute answer to an S.O.S. call from two unme¬ 
chanical girls in a stricken two-seater; the picnic 
lunch in a little wood with Vingie licking the traces 
of the last peach from her slender fingers; the quest 
for cheap cigarettes in a wayside village because his 
costly Turkish cloyed her palate. 

Toward sunset they began their long climb up¬ 
ward on a moorland road, with the everlasting 
heather stretching for miles on either hand. The 
scented air grew keener; the car took on that super¬ 
efficiency cars do take on mysteriously by twilight. 
Shaggy woods loomed up to clothe the moorland 
fells; they won the peak of the road, dropped down 
and swung into scarcely more than a bridle track, 
the furze brushing their wings, the startled rabbits 
hopping wildly for safety. Presently in the distance 
a little river gleamed, bordered by five green tents, 
two of them each in its own isolation, three clustered 


86 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


at a greater distance. The baggage car stood parked 
in the shelter of the trees; a camp-fire sent up its 
cheery glow and scented wood smoke. The duke 
swept round into a little clearing, reversed fault¬ 
lessly in line with the baggage car, switched off, 
removed a glove, and held out his hand. 

“Welcome to our camp, Vingie, dear,” he said 
joyfully. “We’ve done it. Let me help you 
down.” 

She sauntered stiffly to her own green tent, and 
Vokes ministered to her; there came a shedding of 
dusty clothes, the steaming luxury of a canvas bath, 
a clean, cool, costly linen frock simple enough to 
deceive a man, the saunter back to a table spread 
beneath the rising moon. The duke came out in 
comfortable gray flannel, they sat down, and Figgis 
served dinner. 

“They cook it over there,” explained the duke, 
jerking his head to the clustered tents. “I’ve ar¬ 
ranged for a first-rate man. We may as well be 
comfortable. Well, cheerio!” 

Vingie raised her glass of bubbling wine. He 
watched her as if he hoped to see it flow down her 
slender throat. She set down the glass, rested her 
chin on her hands and smiled into his eyes. 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 87 

“Bill,” she murmured dreamily, “this is going to 
be sheer heaven.” 

Sleepily they ate, drugged by a day in the fresh 
air. Sleepily she stretched for his cigarette-case, 
tilted her chin to the held match. At last the beauti¬ 
fully waved head drooped; she offered her fingers 
for a good-night clasp, staggered to her tent and 
slept like a baby, with Vokes in the outer division 
lying between her and the censorious world. 

William Albert sat dreaming over a final cigar. 
With an effort pathetic from fatigue he conjured up 
a mental image. 

“Diane, Diane, if it were only you!” he said, and 
really believed he meant it. 

At seven thirty a.m. a slender figure shrouded in 
a cream and scarlet bathing cloak tiptoed past Vokes 
and sought the sweet morning air. Vingie, whistling 
softly, stretched one white arm to adjust her already 
perfect bathing cap, and wandered in search of 
Figgis. She found him as a good chauffeur should 
be found, in overalls grooming his car. 

“Figgis,” began Vingie, “I want a message taken 
to the outer world, and it’s private. I want it 
handed in at a post-office with instructions to 
wire it.” 


88 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


“We have a lad who runs errands on a motor¬ 
cycle, miss,” replied Figgis, not unimpressed by the 
vision before him. “I will see to it at once.” 

Vingie nodded, plucked a sheet of paper from an 
envelope and reread it for the last time. 

“Berriman, Daily Tale, London. Bring Diane 
day after to-morrow, tea time. Place is Long Moor, 
near Cleckbarrow, Yorks. Bear left on top of moor 
and make for river. Good luck. Virginia L.” 

“I’m very much obliged to you, Figgis,” said 
Vingie, moistening and sealing the envelope flap. 
Turning away on happy feet that longed to dance 
she ran across to the duke’s tent and stood listening. 

“Coo-ee!” she cried at last. “Wake up, Bill! 
It’s a lovely morning.” 

Two seconds later a pajama-clad form emerged 
from the tent door, hair charmingly tousled, cig¬ 
arette between fingers. 

“Good morning,” said Vingie. “Have you for¬ 
gotten that river? Put on your bathing-kit and be 
quick, ’cause I’ve been waiting hours.” 

He disappeared obediently. In five minutes, ap¬ 
proaching the river-bank he came upon a naiad in a 
scarlet one-piece swimming suit seated upon her 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


89 


cloak with an air of great patience. She stood up, 
waved a hand, raised her arms, stayed poised for 
one heart-beat, and dived. A moment after his 
blue-clad form cut the air in pursuit. 

“I’m going to cook breakfast, Bill,” she an¬ 
nounced later, pattering tentward by his side. 
“You’re keen on these real women, and you think 
I’m only a butterfly. Run along and shave and I’ll 
be ready when you're finished.” 

By some miracle of galvanizing the sixty-year-old 
limbs of Vokes into young activity, Vingie, when 
he came forth groomed and hungry, he beheld deep 
in the mysteries of chafing-dish cookery. 

Eggs and bacon sizzled with an appetizing smell; 
coffee steamed near by. Figgis, having spread a 
table in the wilderness, looked on indulgently. The 
duke praised while he marveled. 

“I brought my own tools,” explained Vingie, 
heaping his plate. “They say seeing’s believing. 
You never knew I was useful before, did you, Bill? 
Look how the toy of an idle hour can produce grub 
and coffee for two. And what are we going to do 
with our nice day ?” 

“Anything in the world you like, Vingie.” 

She thought a moment. 


90 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


“Let’s take the boat and sandwiches and go ex¬ 
ploring along the wild coasts of the river. If we 
get tired of it we can always land and go for a tramp 
across the moor. I love a boat. It’s kind of lazy 
and romantic. Do you mind?” 

The duke sighed. “No,” he said. “I don’t 
mind.” He looked at her thoughtfully while she 
sat bare armed in some little elbow-sleeved rag and 
smiled at him from sheer vitality. “If you asked me 
to rig up sky-hooks and a rope and try and climb 
to the moon I’d do it. One does do things you sug¬ 
gest somehow. One gets the habit and then it’s 
fatal. You see, they always sound so nice when you 
say them.” 

All day she made a perfect playfellow. Some¬ 
times she would be a little girl, when she preferred 
not to walk any farther, and let him take care of her. 
At others she played the calm sensible friend, full of 
elder wisdom. Occasionally she remembered Diane 
and oozed soothing matemalness, as when he cut 
his finger and she bound it up, or when arriving 
back in camp she insisted on mending a tear in his 
coat. 

For dinner that night she arrived bathed, pow¬ 
dered, beautiful, manicured, not one hair out of 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


9 1 

place, with a faint air of haughtiness very compel¬ 
ling. Having made a worm of him she relented 
and became kind as they sat smoking beneath the 
stars. 

“Happy, Bill?” she asked. 

“Yes, thank you.” 

“Know any more about what a woman can be to 
you than you did ?” 

“Oh well, you’re not an ordinary woman. You’re 
a witch or a devil or a darling, and sometimes all 
three at once.” 

Vingie rose to her feet in judgment. 

“Either every woman’s ordinary or else there are 
no ordinary women. Once a woman’s attracted a 
man she can be anything she chooses to him if she 
likes to take the trouble. Attracting him’s easy. 
She only has to ignore him and the vain thing 
comes running up to see why.” 

“No, really? By jove, you amaze me!” said the 
duke with mild sarcasm. 

“So I’m going to bed, so night-night,” she ended 
and left him, proving the truth of her wisdom, for 
he sat down feeling a little lonely and forsaken, 
wondering how she could bear to be without him, 
seeing it was only nine o’clock. 


9 2 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


They came at tea-time. Mr. Berriman knew that 
punctuality is the courtesy of kings, having dealt 
with kings at odd times in the execution of his duty; 
consequently his hired limousine rolled gently into 
the duke’s camp at four p.m. looking a little self- 
conscious and metropolitan. The chauffeur gazed 
about with a “Well, I never!” expression, got down, 
opened a door and consulted Mr. Berriman. Mr. 
Berriman alighted, a comforting and unmovable 
figure in tweed, and assisted Mademoiselle Diane de 
Blancheforet to alight also. They moved slowly in 
the direction of the two isolated tents. 

Vingie and the duke sat in two comfortable deck¬ 
chairs awaiting tea. Vingie was the first to behold 
the advance of Mr. Berriman and a tall dark woman 
with dead white complexion who moved with the 
subtlety of a snake, wearing an afternoon frock suit¬ 
able for the races and an immense black hat. The 
high heels of her wonderful shoes were such as are 
forbidden by large and legible notices on all the best 
golf-courses. She would have looked perfect in the 
Park or Bond Street. 

“Frenchwomen simply don’t understand country 
kit,” murmured Vingie to herself, and aloud: “Oh, 
Bill, look what’s blown in!” 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


93 


The duke raised his eyes and froze. First the 
color drained from his cheeks and then it returned 
at double-strength. Then his training asserted 
itself. He had received too many deputations not 
to know what to do. He went forward with out¬ 
stretched hand. 

Diane’s dagger-glance flashed past him for one 
second to photograph a perfectly adorable Vingie 
utterly self-possessed; then her smile bathed the 
duke’s unhappy face. 

“Ah! Monseigneur, que je suis enchantee de 
vous voir!” she exclaimed in a voice like milk trick¬ 
ling over white velvet. “Figurez-vous que nous 
nous sommes perdus! Permettez que je vous pre¬ 
sente Monsieur Bairymont ” 

Mr. Berriman raised his soft felt hat and re¬ 
marked: “How do you do, sir? I must apologize 
for this descent on you, but we lost our way on 
top of the moor. What a perfectly delightful 
spot!” 

“Oh, a filthy hole really, but I rather like it,” 
deprecated the duke, and introduced him to Vingie. 
They met as perfect strangers. Figgis, having 
grasped the situation from the alien chauffeur, came 
forward to arrange tea. 


94 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


Vingie with the feeling of one whose work is 
well done took the woman guest tentward, and 
Vokes offered hairpins and face powder and all that 
she had. Nevertheless all traces of Vingie’s occu¬ 
pation had been removed, and plain hair-brushes 
replaced her ivory-backed treasures. From the 
subtle under-currents it was plain to her that the 
romance of Diane and the duke was shattered into 
bits and on the other hand would never be re¬ 
molded nearer to the heart’s desire. The slight on 
Diane was too deep, the pride of the duke too pro¬ 
found. The bright sallies and tinkling mirth of the 
tea-party proved this beyond a doubt. 

As Vingie sat marveling at her own cleverness, a 
second car curved into the little clearing, an open 
touring car of distinguished lineage. A door opened 
and Rupert alighted, turning to assist his compan¬ 
ion, the Lady Celia Pytchley. They advanced 
gently upon the tea-party. 

Rupert wore the expression of a murderer who, 
found with the body of his victim, declares he has 
never noticed it before. 

“Hullo!” he exclaimed with false geniality. “We 
thought we’d just drop in to tea.” 

“Cheerio!” returned the duke with equivalent 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


95 

heartiness. “The very thing! Figgis, two more 
cups, please.” 

Vingie smiled upon Lady Celia and Rupert as the 
sun shines on the just and unjust alike, but her eyes 
when they met Rupert’s told him through the smile 
that rat-poison was too good for him. Lady Celia 
being a pleasant, pretty girl who played all sorts of 
games, fitted into the gathering without one wrinkle 
on her fair brow. If any man had said, “What a 
fine day!” she would have replied “Yes, isn’t it!” 
and if he had continued, “No, it’s wet!” she would 
have replied “Yes, it is rather wet!” Thus she had 
the making of a perfect wife, but Vingie’s brain 
worked furiously nevertheless. 

“Diane doesn’t know me, but Celia and I played 
as children. There’s no deceiving even an imbecile 
who played with you as a child. I must seem to be 
nothing but a tea-party guest and leave with the 
others. If she knew I was staying here my reputa¬ 
tion would disappear. As Rupert has done me in 
it’s up to him to rescue me.” 

With considerable skill she drew him aside and 
sauntered toward the river-bank. Then she turned 
on him. 

“I always realized you were a fool, Rupert,” 


9 6 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


she said bitterly, “but would you mind telling me 
exactly why even you brought Celia here ?” 

Rupert frowned thoughtfully. 

“It is the theory of the attraction of opposites,” 
he explained. “I considered it likely that the violent 
contrast between you and her might turn his fancy 
in her direction. It was an experiment in psychol¬ 
ogy, my dear Virginia. Of course, I had no idea 
that other woman would be here. It is most dis¬ 
tressing that Lady Celia should breathe the same 


“It would take more than air to hurt Celia,” 
snarled Vingie. “My dear Rupert, you’re the hope¬ 
less frozen limit. I get him here quietly, handle 
him perfectly for days, arrange for Diane to come 
down looking like a film star on a desert island, and 
to-night I’d have finished the job and packed him 
off to Celia in the morning. Now I wash my hands 
of you and your duke. All I’m concerned is to get 
away before Celia. She must never know I’m stay¬ 
ing here.” 

“Why not?” asked Rupert kindly. 

“Because-” retorted Vingie, fighting for 

breath, “because it’s—just possible—she might think 
it—funny. Not laughing funny you know, curious 



VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


97 


funny, like widows who aren’t married and that 
kind of thing. Do you see that man over there with 
two arms and two legs? That is Figgis, the chauf¬ 
feur. Go and tell him to get the Rolls ready and 
not be surprised when I tell him to drive me home, 
but just to do it. And tell him to tell Vokes to hide. 
Celia must never see Vokes. She might remember 
her. And tell him to get a coat of mine and put it in 
the car. It looks better and I’ll need it. And, 
Rupert, if I didn’t happen to have a hat on nothing 
could have saved me. Now go!” 

Rupert had at least one virtue, the capacity to 
obey. He went. 

For ten minutes Vingie tossed the shuttle-cock of 
conversation lightly to and fro. Then she rose and 
held out a hand to the duke. He had long ceased 
to think or wonder; he hid a bruised and bewildered 
boy behind a grinning society image, but under this 
last blow his nerve almost cracked. 

“Good-by,” said Vingie. “I’ve enjoyed my tea 
most awfully; thank you for a gorgeous time.” 

His eye, wandering helplessly, beheld Figgis, 
capped and dust-coated, beside a purring Rolls. 

“But,” he began, “must you go? What about 
your-” 



9 8 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


“My coat’s in the car, thanks!’’ she broke in. 
“Rupert, you can take me over to it if you like. 
Good-by, every one.” 

Once again, Rupert watched with disapproval 
while she escaladed the sporting body. 

“I didn’t really want you; I loathe the sight of 
you,” she explained over the side of it. “But I must 
know which road your car will take.” 

“We go north. Celia and I are both staying with 
the Tees. I think you are being a little unkind, 
Virginia.” 

“Let’s go south then,” said Vingie to Figgis, and 
at her word the car glided away. 

“I followed your instructions, miss,” he reassured 
her. “I told the other chauffeurs what I thought 
would do most good, and Vokes is concealed in the 
stores tent.” 

“Jolly good of you, Figgis. Take me about 
twenty miles and stop at some decent place for din¬ 
ner, and then we’ll go back when the coast’s clear.” 

Even as Vingie nourished herself in the ancient 
splendor of the Rose & Crown while Figgis lurked 
in the outer darkness where chauffeurs feed, the 
duke dined alone in his stricken camp. Diane had 
gone and Celia had gone and Vingie, for all he 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


99 


knew, still traveled south in his pet car. His dinner 
was badly served by some awkward substitute for 
Figgis. Afterward he lay back in a cane lounge, 
smoked a cigar and stared at the evening sky. 

“A person in my position/’ he said to himself at 
last, “is doomed as far as women are concerned. 
The suitable ones are dull and the attractive ones 
aren’t suitable. They do these things better in the 
East; I believe I could get together a harem as well 
as the next person if only people’s silly prejudice 
didn’t stand in the way.” 

The sight of an approaching car interrupted, but 
he never raised his head. There had been so many 
cars that day. He did not hear Vingie’s feet upon 
the grass, and started when she laid a hand on his 
shoulder. 

“Bill, darling,” she said reproachfully, “you didn’t 
think I wouldn’t come back, did you? Have you 
forgotten this is our last night? We’ve got to go 
home to-morrow.” 

“Don’t touch me or I shall go mad,” implored the 
duke. “You might remember that when you touch 
them men are inclined that way, Vingie. It may 
simplify life for you. Sit over there and listen.” 

She went obediently. 


IOO 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


The duke held up his left hand and ticked things 
off on its fingers with his right. 

“Diane is finished," he began. “She looked 
rather a fool in those clothes out here, and I looked 
rather a fool being caught here with you. A man 
does look a fool when one woman catches him with 
another. I don't know why. And directly people 
have looked fools, love ceases to exist." 

He paused, and ticked off a second item on a sec¬ 
ond finger. 

“You," he went on, “are perfectly delightful. 
But with you it was all fair and above-board, a kind 
of demonstration like when I go down to Aldershot 
and a general with no brains, for reasons that don’t 
exist, maneuvers troops armed with blank cartridge 
against an enemy that isn’t there." 

“The enemy was there, Bill," murmured Vingie. 
“And kindly don't confuse me with people who have 
no brains." 

“Well, never mind all that. Now we come to 
Celia. She’s a nice bright girl, and she'd never give 
me a moment’s anxiety. But think of a lifetime 
with a woman who never gave one a moment's 
anxiety!" 

Vingie rose, seated herself on the edge of the cane 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


IOI 


lounge and slid an arm behind his tired head. He 
let it fall back against her with a little sigh. 

“Listen,” she said. “Celia will be just as nice to 
you as I’ve been. All women are the same really. 
The difference between one and the other is what 
you imagine. A man always falls in love with an 
imaginary girl, but he marries a real one, and spends 
his life discovering the difference. But with you 
it’ll be the other way round. You’ll expect nothing 
and make all sorts of exciting discoveries.” 

The duke reached up, drew her head down and 
kissed her affectionately. At length he delivered 
judgment. 

“If it were going to be you and not Celia I should 
never have a moment’s peace of mind till the grave 
closed over me,” he said. 

In her Park Street boudoir Vingie entertained 
Lord Fordingbridge to tea. There is a certain ap¬ 
peal about these intimate entertainments which no 
man is too old to appreciate. Lord Fordingbridge’s 
genial, rubicund countenance wore an expression of 
beatitude. 

“So you see,” continued Vingie, “I managed to 
persuade him finally. But it was a fearf’ly narrow 


102 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


escape and I can’t tell you how sick I am with 
Rupert. He nearly wrecked everything.” 

There is also something in the charm of a de¬ 
lightful girl which makes men reveal secrets they 
would do better to hide. Lord Fordingbridge sim¬ 
pered self-consciously. 

“As a matter of fact it wasn’t Rupert’s idea at 
all,” he confessed. 

“You don’t mean you -?” 

Lord Fordingbridge shook his head. 

“I’m a very stupid old man. All I can do is to 
look cheerful and pick other people’s brains. But 
somehow I felt a little nervous about our conspiracy 
—indeed you were somewhat uncertain yourself.” 

“Oh, no, I wasn’t!” scoffed Vingie. 

“So I went and had a chat with Charles,” Lord 
Fordingbridge rumbled on. “Charles is the braini¬ 
est fellow I know, a perfect marvel; never makes a 
mistake. And Charles said to me: 'Arrange for 
Celia Pytchley to find him with the other two.’ So 
I got the Tees to ask her and Rupert up to their 
place, and told Rupert what to do. Of course he 
had to do it, so you mustn’t be angry with him.” 

“And what was Charles’ reason for the idea?” 
asked Vingie in a gray voice. 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


103 


Lord Fordingbridge chuckled. 

“He explained it all to me, because you know I 
haven’t his brain. He said: T know Vingie’s 
damned attractive and I presume Diane’s damned 
attractive, but Celia’s absolutely safe. Now when 
he sees all three together he’ll lose his nerve and 
play for safety. He’ll choose the safe one and that’s 
exactly what you want him to do/ 

“ 'But why will he ?’ says I. 

“ 'Because, you fool, a man always does!’ says he, 
and you see he was right. Charles was right! But 
your skilful handling of the situation—your tact— 
your patience—your insight—marvelous, my dear 
young lady. Simply marvelous!” 

Vingie surveyed him in frigid silence. He con¬ 
tinued to smile benignly. 

“I may say that the—ah!—investments you 
suggested have been made in your name,” he purred. 
“And the news of the duke’s engagement shall be 
announced in that deplorable newspaper, a copy of 
which, thank God, I have never seen.” 

“And one thing more,” demanded Vingie swiftly. 
“You must send Rupert to Mr. Berriman to arrange 
the announcement.” 

“But why?” asked Lord Fordingbridge dubiously. 


104 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


Vingie’s smile was very sweet. 

“Because they’ll put him in his place at the Daily 
Tale/ f she said. “He’ll stroll in languidly and 
they’ll grab him, and shut him in a waiting-room, 
and whiz him up in a lift and rush him into Mr. 
Berriman’s room and rush him out. They only let 
me stay five minutes! And Charles’ brain con¬ 
ceived it, but Rupert’s was the hand that torpedoed 
me.” 

Lord Fordingbridge, still smiling, turned his 
thumbs down. 


V 


HE butler, hovering in Olympian calm over 
the ministrant footman, stepped forward, 
moved the teapot one-sixteenth of an inch, stood 
back, bowed his head in acknowledgment of perfec¬ 
tion at length achieved and passed out in the wake 
of his underling. Vingie, from the depths of her 
cane armchair, blessed with her eyes the sweeping 
terrace of Wynwood, the velvet swathes of shaven 
lawn, the umbrageousness of the park, and came 
back contentedly to the contemplation of her own 
delicious ankles. Sir Charles, draped in the creami¬ 
est of flannel trousers, silk shirt, and the violent 
blazer of the dear old regiment, surveyed her in 
dreamy reverie. 

Vingie, pouring his tea with slender fingers, 
drenching it generously in cream, fondled him with 
a glance half provocative, half maternal. It is so 
hard for good-looking twenty to be altogether 
merciful. 


105 


io6 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


“Charles,” she murmured reproachfully, “I know 
you’re thinking about Mrs. Trevor-James.” 

“Nothing of the kind,” retorted Sir Charles. “I 
was looking at you and being perfectly happy. One 
can look at a beautiful ward and experience a solely 
esthetic pleasure. It’s one of the few pure emotions 
of which we are capable.” 

“The violence of your flirtation with Mrs. 
Trevor-James has been a great comfort to me, 
Charles,” pursued Vingie, totally unmoved. “It 
showed me that even at her age I shall still be dan¬ 
gerous, and it proved to me the perpetual charm of 
sowing wild oats. She isn’t your first wild oat by 
any means, and yet you displayed a childish excite¬ 
ment that was very pathetic. In the days to come 
when I am a carefully corseted widow with a 
past-” 

Sir Charles shook his head gravely. 

“Youth! Youth!” he intoned, “so headstrong, 
so censorious, so inexperienced! Yours is the age 
of greedy emotions, Virginia. You mistake the 
harmless exercise of a perfect technique—since that 
is all it amounts to at my time of life—for the sort 
of temperamental thunder-storm you would indulge 
in if you dared. I have been a soldier, a diplomat, 



VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


107 


a man of the world, and I tell you candidly that 
wild oats in your case are like artificial pearls—a 
confession that you were unable to achieve the real 
thing. With the solemnization of every marriage 
a woman exchanges the inside of a cage for the out¬ 
side and a man the outside of a cage for the inside. 
Speaking as a bachelor, honestly I don’t see what 
more you can want.” 

“You’re just a few years out of date, Charles. 
To-day a girl can sneak out of her cage for a little 
sight-seeing and sneak back again in time for the 
wedding. It’s a sensible precaution, like learning 
the language and looking up the history of a foreign 
country before you go abroad. It enables one to 
know exactly the right sort of cakes and things to 
throw between the bars to cheer up one’s poor 
caged man after he’s caged.” 

A gentle smile modified Sir Charles’ clean-cut 
mouth. 

“Rupert has come on a lot of late,” he said darkly. 
“You haven’t seen him for a month or more. You’d 
be surprised. He ought to be here at any moment, 
unless the three-forty-five train is later than usual.” 

“And what has caused the miracle?” queried 
Vingie with delicate scorn. 


108 VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 

“I shouldn’t wonder if it’s some girl,” chuckled 
Sir Charles. “It would cause me a certain amount 
of amusement if you were to officiate one day as one 
of Mrs. Rupert’s bridesmaids. He’d be certain to 
ask you; after all, he’s known you since you were 
a child.” 

The distant purring of a car at the farther side of 
the house came soothingly to their ears. Two min¬ 
utes later the tall form of Rupert emerged from a 
French window, his earnest preoccupied face 
wreathed in a deprecating smile. Vingie leaned 
back in her chair literally aghast at his transforma¬ 
tion. She had expected a lank untidy figure, its 
trousers baggy-kneed, its jacket sagging at the 
pockets, its hair undisciplined, its shoes deplorable. 
She saw a young man of fashion slenderly embraced 
by an inspired morning coat beneath which a cream 
waistcoat peeped coyly. His striped trousers were 
ironed into a tin-like severity, his white spats and 
patent shoes gleamed, the silk hat he raised shot back 
the rays of the summer sun, and he carried a gold 
knobbed straight Malacca cane with a certain 
panache. 

“Good afternoon,” began this vision, a little self¬ 
consciously. “Forgive the festive appearance, but I 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 109 

came straight from an official Foreign Office lunch¬ 
eon. The chief is motoring down late with Jim 
Andaside. We’re very worried about him. It is a 
most unfortunate business all round.” 

“Tell us about it while I give you some tea, you 
standardized Don Juan,” scoffed Vingie. “Or per¬ 
haps you’d rather drink whisky-and-soda; I’m 
afraid we haven’t any absinthe. Do find him a cig¬ 
arette, Charles; it’s the one touch lacking.” 

The bad habits of a lifetime not being conquered 
in a moment, Rupert Frack tossed his glossy hat 
carelessly on to the grass and subsided into a chair. 
Vingie stared in fascination at his sleek, brillian- 
tined head. “I mustn’t,” he said soberly. “Tea, 
please. The chief will use his discretion. I rather 
think he wishes to consult Uncle Charles. It’s lovely 
weather for June, isn’t it? By jove, Virginia, what 
topping tea-cakes!” 

“He even has polite conversation on the tip of 
his tongue,” commented Vingie. “Where did you 
learn all this, Rupert? Whose is the white reform¬ 
ing hand?” 

“To tell you the truth,” he confessed, “it became 
my duty to cultivate a certain rather attractive lady 
in whom the Foreign Office was interested. We 


no 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


deported her last week, but newly acquired manner¬ 
isms are apt to cling. I hope nothing unfortunate 
has happened to the chief. Jim was bringing him 
down in a new car of recent design. They should 
really be here by now.” 

“Man proposes but God disposes,” commented 
Sir Charles, offering his cigarette-case to Vingie. 

A violent commotion resembling machine-gun 
fire heralded the arrival upon a winding drive be¬ 
neath the terrace of a car bristling with ferocity 
whose two-seated body contained a rather grim¬ 
faced young man and Lord Fordingbridge. His 
lordship descended with dignity from the severely 
braked vehicle, which emitted irregular and protest¬ 
ing booms from its exhaust, contemplated the exigu¬ 
ous body festooned with luggage and spare wheels, 
shrugged his shoulders resignedly and climbed the 
flight of stone steps leading to the terrace. He re¬ 
moved his gray tall hat in sweeping homage to 
Virginia and gazed down on the assembled tea- 
party. 

“Jim is a good-hearted fellow and means well,” 
he observed judicially. “Nevertheless I have en¬ 
vied the French aristocrats journeying in a tumbril 
to the guillotine ever since we left Hyde Park Cor- 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


hi 


ner. The certainty of their end, swift and com¬ 
paratively painless, gave rise to my somewhat 
unchristian feeling. To have one’s innermost self 
spread out for the vulgar to gaze upon—an immi¬ 
nent prospect for the last twenty miles—rather 
appals me. My dear Virginia, to see you is more 
than sufficient reward for my sufferings. You look 
positively blooming.” 

She smiled graciously and offered him a slender 
hand which he raised to his lips in the old-time man¬ 
ner. She had a definite esteem for this rubicund 
old gentleman with the heart of a child and the 
eye of a connoisseur. He presented the Honorable 
James Andaside, a youthful person of quiet exte¬ 
rior, foreboding hidden fires, whose battered blue 
suit and stained finger-tips bespoke a descendant of 
Tubal Cain, the Father of Artificers. His eyes 
dwelt gratefully on Vingie and his voice wooed 
her, for women and petrol engines have much in 
common and a man who is clever with cars may 
toy skilfully with girls. 

Then, turning to Lord Fordingbridge he said 
briefly: 

“Don’t you agree she ought to land the Iberian 
contract?” He jerked a wise young head toward 


112 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


the silent monster in the drive. Lord Fording- 
bridge raised his eyebrows. 

“We certainly progressed by leaps and bounds, 
if that is a recommendation.” 

“You don’t expect,” remonstrated Jim Andaside, 
“a car with a high compression engine, overlap 
valve timing, racing cams, aluminum pistons and 
drilled con-rods to doddle along like a ten-year-old 
taxicab.” 

“It is not my custom to indulge in fatuous expec¬ 
tations,” responded Lord Fordingbridge gravely, 
“and even if it were I should reflect at some length 
before aspersing the very delicately organized mech¬ 
anism on which you and your associates have lav¬ 
ished so much anxious thought.” 

Jim Andaside shrugged his shoulders. 

“The only thing to do is to marry that infernal 
woman,” he declared. “After all, what does it 
matter? I spend all my time at the works.” 

“I shall revoke your passport, my dear fellow,’* 
countered Lord Fordingbridge with his most child¬ 
like smile. “You won’t be able to leave the coun¬ 
try. I may be only a foolish old man, but one day 
you’ll succeed to the title and we can’t have the 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


ii3 

Earl of Borth tied up to a Dago countess. There 
are more ways of choking a cat than by killing it 
with butter.” 

“What is all this talk about the assassination of 
cats?” inquired Sir Charles in his gently indulgent 
voice. “The great question is, George, do you know 
the name of a horse that is bound to win at Ascot? 
Higgins, the head-gardener, is pressing me for new 
shoes for the pony that pulls the lawn-mower, and 
Virginia is positively in rags.” 

“No wise man would risk his reputation by tip¬ 
ping the sort of rubbish they breed now-a-days, 
Charles,” sighed Lord Fordingbridge. “I’ve got a 
tenner on Belted Earl for the Gold Cup at fifties, 
but it’s money thrown away. Jim, I wonder if 
you’d mind showing Rupert your pet leviathan. 
After all, he comes into this strange business that 
involves us all. Dear me, dear me, how extraordi¬ 
nary it seems! I don’t know what Lord Palmerston 
would think if he were alive.” 

His shrewd old eyes followed the departing pair 
of young men with interest. “I find Rupert very 
well turned out lately,” he went on dreamily to 
Vingie. “Positively proud to be seen about with 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


114 

him. But, my dear Virginia, my dear Charles, we 
are in a sad fix. The cares of state become almost 
more than I can bear.” 

“Rupert half-hinted at some crisis, but, of course, 
he gave nothing away,” murmured Vingie with 
balm in her tone far transcending the bedside man¬ 
ner of the most expensive consulting specialist. 
“Do you think it might help if you were to tell us 
just the bare outlines?” 

“The curse of old age is that one begins to take 
advantage of one’s friends!” declared Lord Ford- 
ingbridge passionately. “Y’see it’s like this: The 
war did one thing to one man and another thing to 
another, and it got young Jim Andaside mixed up 
in trade. He nearly broke poor Bob Borth’s heart, 
especially as Geoffrey, the eldest boy, was smashed 
up so badly that marriage is out of the question for 
him. That means Jim will succeed to the title event¬ 
ually. He always had low mechanical tastes—don’t 
know one end of a horse from the other, God help 
him, and I never saw such a disgraceful game shot 
in my life—and he actually apprenticed himself to 
a firm of motor engineers, Daimely or Wolseler or 
some one. 

“He was a Sapper during the war, and happened 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


ii5 

to come across some dreadful fellow—I'm not sure 
he wasn't an Australian—who had an idea for a 
new-fangled car. Anyhow, they started to manu¬ 
facture the thing, but the Australian—if he was an 
Australian, but he may have been a Canadian— 
broke his neck testing a new model. So now Jim's 
on his own. He's made quite a bit of money out 
of it, which rather reconciled his family, for, of 
course, dear old Bob Borth hasn't a bean, and one 
day what does he do but find out that the Iberian 
Republic is bringing the whole of its internal trans¬ 
port up to date." 

“Iberia? Iberia?" pondered Vingie. “Isn’t that 
where the Russians used to knout prisoners to death 
before the Bolsheviks destroyed all the old Russian 
civilization?" 

“You're thinking of Siberia, my dear," corrected 
Lord Fordingbridge with the large tolerance of the 
expert. “Iberia is one of those Latin countries, 
somewhere in the region of Portugal or something. 
Rupert would know exactly. Hitherto the Iberians 
have stuck to the ox-carts of their forefathers, but 
there's been a terrible wave of progress since the 
war, and the government felt it ought to encourage 
motor transport. So Jim gets an introduction to 


n6 VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 

the president of Iberia and practically persuaded 
him to sign a contract for five thousand Catapult 
cars, just as a beginning, so to speak.” 

“Clever blighter,” murmured Sir Charles, hiding 
a yawn. “But how dull and soulless these commer¬ 
cial transactions are, my dear George. How much 
more picturesque the Iberian peasant appears seated 
in the ox-cart of his ancestors!” 

“Ah, but he wouldn’t be supporting the Borths 
in their ancient fastnesses, dear old boy! However, 
before Senor Alphonso del Sol—that’s the presi¬ 
dent’s name, y’ know—could put pen to paper, his 
only daughter appeared on the scene.” 

Lord Fordingbridge paused, and sighed. 

“She has no mother to guide her, poor girl, her 
father being a widower. It may be that or it may 
be her nature, but I understand that Maria Dolores 
del Sol practically runs Iberia. 

“They’re a romantic lot of scoundrels, and there’s 
probably a great deal more noblesse oblige going 
about than is good for the young lady. She’s nine¬ 
teen, but of course, in that climate they mature 
very early.” 

He glanced guardedly at the chair which en¬ 
shrined Vingie’s twenty flower-like years. “Her 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


ii 7 


seniority in this country would be at least twenty- 
five. Independent witnesses assert that she’s re¬ 
markably good-looking—naturally, in that florid 
Iberian fashion. Probably nobody would look at 
her twice over here.” 

“Your delicacy does you credit, but pray don’t 
mind me,” said Vingie very sweetly. “The ques¬ 
tion is, what did she do to Jim Andaside?” 

“She played him simply the meanest trick a 
woman has it in her to play,” answered Lord Ford- 
ingbridge with emotion. “She fell in love with 
him at first sight, and in a long life of diplomacy 
I never heard of anything more miserably selfish. 
Jim aroused in her all those terrible possessive in¬ 
stincts with which Providence curses woman; she 
conjured up visions of an establishment, a wedding 
ring, servants, tradespeople, cradles, and Heaven 
knows what else. She insists on marrying the poor 
boy, and if he refuses the contract for these five 
thousand cars will never be signed.” 

“And still,” observed Sir Charles, “I fail to see 
why that should worry you. Jim isn’t your child, 
and I imagine you haven’t invested money in this 
undertaking.” 

“You don’t understand, Charles. You’ve been 


n8 VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 

out of harness for some time —otium cum dignitatc 
so to speak. Diplomacy and commerce are sadly 
mingled nowadays. Every ambassador carries a 
ready reckoner in his pocket. The Foreign Office 
has to keep an eye on a big deal with a foreign 
state; it means a lot of employment here next 
winter, and there’s a certain prestige attaching to 
the whole thing. Jim’s got the heart of a lion; he’d 
marry the girl sooner than lose the contract, but my 
feeling is that we sacrificed enough young lives 
during the war. Besides I can’t hear of dear old 
Bob being saddled with an Iberian daughter-in-law. 
At the same time Jim won’t listen to any scheme 
that jeopardizes the contract. You’re a sound fellow, 
Charles, and you know how stupid I am. I wonder 
if you could think of any way out.” 

“I know a little about women and a great deal 
about Dagoes, and I can see Jim with a handle of 
a knife sticking out between his shoulder-blades,” 
Sir Charles replied thoughtfully. “What is this car 
we are discussing? Has anybody ever heard of it? 
There is only one car that any decent person cares 
to be seen in, as far as I know.” 

Lord Fordingbridge, with shame written all over 
his face, furtively extracted a leaflet from his waist- 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


119 

coat pocket, adjusted his glasses, and read: “The 
Catapult car. For those who have no time. It 
needs none. Faster than a flapper. Wears like a 
wife. Scrap your ‘ought-to’-mobile for the Buzz- 
bus that Does!” 

“I call that jolly clever!” commented Vingie. 

“May God forgive him,” groaned Sir Charles. 

“It goes on to mention things like ‘full-floating 
axles’ and ‘spiral-bevel drives,’ ” explained Lord 
Fordingbridge apologetically, “but I needn’t pro¬ 
fane your ears with any more. Nevertheless I 
understand that for the sort of people who like that 
kind of thing the Catapult car is most satisfactory. 
The Iberian Government proposed to guarantee a 
scheme of easy payments—a dreadful system de¬ 
vised for the classes that can neither owe like a 
gentleman nor pay cash like a profiteer. As I said, 
however, Maria Dolores has queered everything. 
There’s a kind of moratorium for a fortnight and 
after that, Heaven alone knows.” 

“Well,” declared Sir Charles, “I don’t want to 
seem like a rat leaving the sinking ship, but I should 
like to be excused from interfering, George. Black¬ 
mail I can understand, and embezzlement, and high¬ 
way robbery, but this has the drawbacks of each 


120 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


and the virtues of neither. If I haven't got a pure 
heart I like to have clean hands." 

“How wise you are, Charles, darling. It takes a 
woman to beat a woman at her own game. As long 
as her heart is pure she can always wash her hands," 
said Vingie in her clear modern voice, smiling a little. 

“Ah!" sighed Lord Fordingbridge. He leaned 
back easily in his comfortable chair. The anxious 
lines round his mouth relaxed. He hummed a little 
tune, one that took London by storm in 1878. “My 
dear," he went on craftfully, “it is quite a time 
since I saw the rose-garden. I wonder whether 
you would be so kind as to show it me. Somehow 
or other I can never manage to grow roses like 
Charles does. He brings a touch of genius to 
everything." 

She drifted rose-garden ward beside him, utterly 
adorable in her brief tennis frock. Lord Fording¬ 
bridge felt himself move in an atmosphere of ex¬ 
treme benevolence dashed with romance. Ulti¬ 
mately he took a perfect specimen of Gloire de 
Dijon speculatively between thumb and finger, and 
said simply: 

“My dear Virginia, what is your opinion?" 

“How should a mere foolish girl rush in where 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


121 


Cabinet ministers fear to tread?” responded Vingie 
with humility. 

“In this case, to be quite frank, she would do it 
almost on her own terms.” 

“My poor friend, you must indeed be worried! 
I’d love to help you for nothing because I’m ever 
so fond of you, but I’m very hard up and Charles 
is such a dear I can’t bear to sponge on him. You 
do understand, don’t you?” 

“I think I could promise a commission of ten 
shillings per car supposing the deal for this five 
thousand cars goes through without Jim’s marry¬ 
ing Maria Dolores. That’s two thousand five hun¬ 
dred pounds. It would buy quite a number of 
frocks.” 

“Yes. Thank you!” said Vingie, raising her fair 
young face to the light and letting Lord Fording- 
bridge admire it in the academic spirit of an expert. 
“A girl, of course, doesn’t make a fool of herself 
over a man like a man does of himself over a girl. 
Jim must appeal to her vanity. Probably he shows 
up rather well beside the local men; he’s more 
athletic and capable, and he’s done a certain amount. 
Besides it’s practically certain he made love to her, 
partly for the sake of business, mostly from habit. 


122 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


The great thing is not to thwart her or else she'll 
never let him go. If we could show her something 
better than Jim, or make her feel he's not worth 
troubling about, the whole thing’s perfectly simple. 
It's a very delicate matter. I should need to go 
out to Iberia, and take Charles, and probably Ru¬ 
pert. You see, she mustn’t get the idea that I 
want Jim myself. I'd suggest that I wouldn’t touch 
him with a long stick. I expect I'm putting it all 
very badly. May I have a quiet talk with Jim after 
dinner? Do you feel you can trust me?” 

Lord Fordingbridge patted gently the loveliest 
shoulder this generation has produced. 

‘‘Tiresome and ugly monuments have been erected 
in important thoroughfares to people who have done 
far less than you are about to accomplish,” he said 
with conviction. . . . 

“Mary,” announced Vingie half an hour later, 
“I must try to be almost nice-looking this evening. 
Chuck an extra handful of bath-salts in the bath— 
those Baisers d’Amoureuse are the thrilliest I think 
—and I should like a rather passionate make-up. 
I want to impress a young man who's just left the 
most beautiful girl in Iberia. Do you think we can 
manage it?” 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


123 


“With the cream and gold gown it’ll be quite 
simple, miss. Accustomed as he has been to dark 
young ladies wearing brilliant shades, your fair 
complexion and a gown to match will take his breath 
away.” 

“What a comfort you are, Mary—so sympathetic 
and understanding,” murmured Vingie, snatching 
a kimono about her slender form and sliding her 
little feet into pink mules. 

In truth, when after a very satisfactory dinner, 
the one girl among three men, the pampered darling 
of an admiring trinity, she took Jim Andaside apart, 
subjecting him to the third degree, herself and her 
intriguing frock reduced him to a very suitable 
frame of mind. 

She took in subconsciously his alert figure, the 
gray eyes in a thin tanned face, the intelligent 
hands. 

“Lord Fordingbridge suggested I might be able 
to help over this Iberian affair,” she began slowly. 
“Do you mind telling me exactly how you stand 
with Maria Dolores!” 

His eyes dwelt thoughtfully on hers. 

“Strange as it may sound, she insists on marrying 
me. I’ve done everything in reason. I gave her 


124 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


a Catapult salon with a gold-plated body and 
scarlet cord upholstery. It sounds disgusting, but 
it suits the Iberian taste. I’ve left her my head 
tester, Pete Hannen, to drive it, because it’s one of 
three racing models, with a special engine all ma¬ 
chined out of the solid, and I don’t want her to 
break her neck. She rides about looking like the 
band-wagon out of a circus, as happy as a kid.” 

“Have you ever kissed her?” 

“I never tell tales. Besides, what’s that got to do 
with it?” 

“Well,” said Vingie severely, “you shouldn’t have 
done.” 

“You don’t know Iberia as well as I do,” he 
sighed. 

The wildest dreams of Kew are the facts of Khat- 
mandu 

And the crimes of Clapham chaste in Martaban/ 

Besides, when she’s in the mood Maria Dolores 
positively palpitates, and if a young lady produces 
a stiletto from her garter and spikes it through 
your shirt over your heart, and swears you shall 
never live to look at another woman, and then you 
have to take the stiletto away, and she shows you 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


125 

the marks of your fingers on her wrist, life becomes 
a little difficult.” 

“The idea is to convince her that personally 
you’re not worth bothering about.” 

“I’m not proud, but you’ll have a job to find any¬ 
thing to beat me in Iberia.” 

“Do you want, to marry this girl?” demanded 
Vingie icily. 

“God forbid! I don’t want to marry any girl 
until I’ve sold a Catapult to every man, woman and 
child who’s got the price of it. But I should hate 
you not to realize the difficulties we have ahead of 
us.” 

He smiled gently and placed his finger-tips to¬ 
gether. 

“It’s a great life if you don’t weaken, isn’t it? 
But I’ll do anything in order to be rescued. I want 
to plant those five thousand ears on the Iberian 
public.” 

“Well, if you’ll be kind enough to leave me and 
ask Lord Fordingbridge to spare me a few minutes 
I dare say it can be arranged,” said Vingie, with 
more casualness than actually she felt. It did not 
seem desirable for the young man to overrate his 
personal charm because he had impressed a simple 


126 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


Iberian damsel unaccustomed to the Anglo-Saxon. 
Presently Lord Fordingbridge arrived. 

“How wonderfully you understand women,” 
murmured Vingie as he stood surveying her with 
respectful homage. “Do sit down and I’ll try to 
work out a plan. The only thing I can think of is 
to make her give him up out of pique. If you could 
arrange for Charles and Rupert and me to go out 
to Iberia as I said, and for Charles and Rupert to 
pose as directors of the Catapult Car Company 
while Jim is just a salesman, it might work wonders. 
Of course, we’ll all treat Maria Dolores and her 
father most tactfully and rather snub Jim. I think 
I’ll be engaged to Rupert for the time being—it 
doesn’t matter; I know him so awfully well—and 
that will annoy Maria Dolores too. And if the 
worst comes to the worst we can invite her over 
here. I should like to arrange a little newspaper 
publicity for her in case of accidents. Mr. Berri- 
man—of the Daily Tale —can work anything. If I 
could promise to take a little advertising space for 
this car he’d feed out of my hand.” 

“Just as you wish, my dear Virginia,” replied 
Lord Fordingbridge. “Jim can’t afford to refuse 
me anything at the moment. I will arrange for 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


12 7 


him to transfer the necessary stock to Charles and 
Rupert; it amounts merely to a paper transaction, 
for they will hardly wish to retain an interest in 
the company. I will also give instructions for cabins 
to be reserved in a steamer sailing, shall we say, 
at the end of next week, and accommodation in 
Peixoes, the capital of Iberia. That is, I’ll leave 
it all to Rupert; I’m afraid I haven’t a head for 
these tiresome details, but he’s a wonderful fellow. 
Now I can scarcely look up a train in a time-table, 
but then, why should I if I can get somebody else 
to do it for me?” 

Vingie rose from her chair, placed a hand af¬ 
fectionately on his arm, and moved across the 
drawing-room to the open French windows giving 
upon the terrace. A full moon sailed high in the 
summer heavens and the mingled scent of lawns 
and flower borders drifted intoxicatingly on the air. 

“It’s an ideal sentimental setting,” she murmured 
a propos of nothing. “Could I borrow Rupert for 
a moment or two?” 

When Rupert stepped out on to the terrace she 
was standing by a vast ornamental vase set on the 
balustrade dividing the terrace from the gardens. 
Slowly she raised one white arm to remove the cig- 


128 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


arette from between her lips, turned, leaned against 
the balustrade and faced him. 

“I hardly know you nowadays, Rupert,” she be¬ 
gan irrelevantly. “You used to look like something 
out of a rag-bag. Now you’re perfectly beautiful; 
was the deported lady so very charming?” 

Rupert Frack, a very modish figure indeed in one 
of the daring new double-breasted white dress 
waistcoats, shrugged his shoulders with dandified 
grace. 

“Have you ever observed, Virginia, how ex¬ 
tremely trivial life is?” he asked with cynical flip¬ 
pancy. “Even you judge entirely by exteriors. 
For instance, my good work in connection with the 
Navigable Waters of the Danube, my Minute on the 
Trans-Caucasian Iron Mines, my Report on the 
Latvian Boundary Commission left you absolutely 
unmoved. But because a man runs an iron rather 
more frequently up and down the legs of my 
trousers, because I brilliantine my hair and double 
my tailor’s bill, you are impressed.” 

“I’m not impressed but I used to be rather sorry 
for you,” explained Vingie in the kindness of her 
heart. 

“Well,” replied Rupert, dropping his platform 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


129 


manner, “it doesn’t matter. You see one has to 
have one’s pose; you’ve yours, Fordingbridge has 
his and I have mine. It took people’s eye, it gave 
me time to work, I had to work in order to get on. 
But, having established myself in the Foreign Office, 
I can afford to blossom forth a little. How lovely 
blossoming is when you’ve kept yourself severely 
in bud-formation for ever so many years.” 

“I never did. I was always a wild one, the gilded 
little prodigal, the sickening anxiety in darling 
Charles’ stately life. I’ve sown several wild oats, 
Rupert, and I’m on the point of sowing some more. 
You’ve got to come and help sow. It’s this sordid 
business of Jim Andaside and the Iberian siren, 
Lord Fordingbridge has lent me you for the time 
being, but I suppose you’ve heard. Now that 
you’ve started to blossom it may make life even 
more dangerous for me, but you little know what 
chilled-steel nerve a girl has to have in these in¬ 
sidious days. By the way, Rupert, how do I strike 
you in your blossoming state?” 

She stood before him, chin lifted, lips parted, 
eyes daring him. 

Rupert smiled a smile more eloquent than words. 
The best cut sleeve in Mayfair crinkled to enfold 


130 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


her slight beauty; his half-sensitive, half-stern 
mouth stooped to hers. With a calm, unhurried 
turn of her head, Vingie foiled him, with that barren 
gesture every pretty girl knows so well and enjoys 
so much. She moved carelessly from the circle of 
his arm and looked him up and down. 

‘Tor the last four years, Mr. Rupert Frack,” 
she said venomously, “I’ve been just as pretty as I 
am now, just as fascinating, just as enthusiastic, 
and you preferred the waters of the Danube. I 
dare say you knew what you were doing, but you 
don’t imagine I’m going to stand still like a good 
little girl and be kissed on the first occasion when 
you can distinguish me from a Caucasian iron mine, 
do you?” 

“And you don’t suppose you can stand there ask¬ 
ing for it and not have me try, do you?” reproved 
Rupert. 

“I never need to ask, and I’m not accustomed to 
men who merely try. No, go away, and listen. 
You’ve repented a little too late, Rupert. By now 
so many men have made love to me that I’m very 
difficult. I doubt if you’ll ever appeal to me in 
the right way. I know you so well—I can see the 
very thought flick in and out of your mind. But 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


131 

you shall have this much opportunity. Directly 
we’re outside the three-mile limit on our voyage to 
Iberia, you will become officially engaged to me, the 
engagement to cease as soon as we reenter the three- 
mile limit on our way back. This engagement car¬ 
ries no privileges and I shall be very exacting, but 
it’ll be a wonderful chance for you to learn. Now 
you may take me indoors.” 

Somewhere within, Jim Andaside, having re¬ 
paired the stricken motor of a large gramophone, 
was giving it a trial run, and the strains of a fox¬ 
trot quivered in the air. Vingie sighed faintly, 
snuggled into Rupert’s arms and whirled with him 
over the polished parquet of the vast drawing-room. 
“Dancing lessons too!” mocked Vingie. “Oh, Ru¬ 
pert, Rupert, you reckless dog!” 

The music of the gramophone ceased. At the 
foot of the historic staircase she paused and ex¬ 
tended a slender hand. Reverently he raised it to 
his lips. 

“George Fordingbridge does it better, but the in¬ 
stinct is praiseworthy,” murmured Vingie. “Good 
night, Rupert, darling.” 

Mr. Berriman was glad when Vingie invited him 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


13 2 

to a tete-a-tete luncheon at Sir Charles’ town house 
in Park Street. Accustomed to dealing with mere 
reporters, foreign adventurers, privy conspirators 
and rebels, his keen quiet eyes rested with pleasure 
on his adorable hostess clad in a summer toilet 
of such inspiration as even improvers might not fell 
or hem until they had been beaten with rods. 

Somewhere in the thirties, disillusioned and self- 
reliant, he knew he had not been asked for nothing, 
so he said politely: 

“It’s some time since we made newspaper history 
together. What scoop have you got for me this 
time, Miss Lauriston?” 

Vingie laughed and shook her head. Mr. Berri- 
man thought he had never seen anything more fas¬ 
cinating than the side curl that hid her ears. 

“You know I’ve never brought you a scoop yet, 
but one day we’ll wreck Fleet Street,” she crooned. 
“I’ll be perfectly candid. This is the situation.” 

Mr. Berriman listened quietly to the plight of 
Jim Andaside deftly set forth. 

“What I want you to do,” explained Vingie, “is 
to work as many paragraphs about Maria Dolores 
as you can into the Daily Tale, Let me have the 
name and address of your Peixoes correspondent 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


133 


and I'll send them through him. The idea is to give 
the girl a swollen head and make her despise Jim. 
In return I can promise you a certain amount of 
advertising, and the exclusive news of the contract, 
if we put it through. Will that be fair, do you 
think?” 

“Perfectly,” answered Mr. Berriman gravely. 
“I'd like some personal stuff about you too, if you 
don’t mind. We could use a photograph, and have 
a little story about your trip to Iberia, referring to 
you as the charming young society beauty. I real¬ 
ize how you must loathe anything of the kind but 
you have a certain responsibility to the public.” 

“And if I have to bring Maria Dolores to Eng¬ 
land I can still rely on you, can’t I ?” 

“Let me choose my own photographer and we’ll 
boost her even if she’s as plain as a pikestaff,” 
promised Mr. Berriman. “Forgive me if I run 
away but I’ve got a man coming to see me at three. 
Unfortunately life isn’t all feasting and revelry. 
How I wish it were!” 

After he had gone Vingie sat idling joyfully, 
savoring adventure to come. Upon her musing the 
arrival of a messenger broke abruptly. He brought 
a note from Rupert and a sheaf of roses, typifying 


134 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


both sides of that astonishing young man’s nature, 
the routine and the romantic. 

The note contained a resume of necessary facts: 

“The train leaves at.the car will be at the 

door at.the boat sails at.on. 

your state room is number.” Attached to 

this order of march she found a list of useful 
phrases: 


It is too expensive; have 
you nothing cheaper? 

I do not like garlic. 

Can you tell me the way 
to the railway station, tram¬ 
way, police station, post- 
office? 


Es dentasiado caro. No 
tiene listed nada mas baratof 

No me gust a ajo. 

Puede usted dirigirme a la 
estacion tramvia — policia — 
casa de correos. 


Vingie sniffed fitfully at the roses. 

“He might be worth training. Unfortunately 
one never finds them ready-made. Well, we shall 
have a chance to see in a few days,” she murmured. 

As the S.S. Badajoz shook the third territorial 
mile from her creaming wake, Vingie slid an ex¬ 
pensive diamond and sapphire ring from the third 
finger of her right hand to the third finger of her 
left, extended the hand meaningly to Rupert, and 
withdrew it swiftly. The gesture was not lost upon 
him; thenceforth he became her slave according to 







VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


135 


his, as yet, limited comprehension. Sir Charles 
passed idle days reading or in the practise of such 
pastimes as poker, bridge, or even a little quiet 
baccarat. Jim Andaside scarcely left the entrails 
of two racing model Catapults, camouflaged to look 
like the standard product, the deceptive sprats with 
which he hoped to catch golden Iberian mackerel. 

On the last night of the voyage they drank suc¬ 
cess to their enterprise in the golden waters of 
France. Vingie gazed thoughtfully at her three 
fellow travelers, dwelling particularly on Jim. 

“Remember,” she said at last, “this is to be no 
joy-ride. My one object in life is to sell Catapults. 
People’s love-troubles don’t interest me. I look on 
you two young men simply as so much human ma¬ 
terial for bringing me in ten shillings per car on 
a sale of five thousand cars.” 

“You are distraught with commercialism, my 
dear Virginia,” declared Sir Charles gravely. “Ob¬ 
lige me by taking her on deck, Rupert, and letting 
her look at the moon. I mean the boat deck not 
the promenade deck. One is nearer the moon on 
the boat deck.” 


VI 


F ROM the cool, white, slatted-shuttered house 
in Peixoes, rented by Lord Fordingbridge 
through the Embassy, Vingie launched her attack 
on this new, sun-baked indolent world where time 
stood still and the fretfulness of a more northerly 
race seemed impertinence. Sir Charles, blending 
with his new atmosphere through the habits of a 
lifetime, went forth to call upon Senor Alphonso 
del Sol. Vingie sent messages to one Henry Carter, 
who did the bidding of Mr. Berriman in those re¬ 
gions, and Jim Andaside, in the Hotel Nacional, 
where he dwelt, put Pete Hannen to the question. 

“May you live a thousand years, Senor,” implored 
the president, settling deeper into his chair and fold¬ 
ing his hands upon that portliness time had brought 
him. “Welcome to our poor capital!” 

Sir Charles exhaled the smoke of an excellent 
cigar. They were both much of an age, philosophic, 
light-hearted elderly gentlemen. 

“It is thirty years since I stayed here last,” he 
said reminiscently. “Senorita Tortola was dancing 
136 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


i37 

at the Alcazar, and there was a wonderful vintage, 
I remember." 

“Yes, yes, I too remember," sighed the president. 
“Her hair came below her knees and you could 
span her ankle with your finger and thumb. There 
are no women like her nowadays, Senor, and the 
wine is not what it used to be. But the women are 
worse than the wine. I have a daughter of whom 
I understand nothing whatever." 

“Dear, dear!" murmured Sir Charles sympathet¬ 
ically. “Every one says how beautiful and accom¬ 
plished she is. We—that is, my ward and myself, 
were hoping to be honored with your company at 
dinner." 

“I am overwhelmed!" declared the president. 
“But tell me, Sir Charles, are the women of your 
country as lovely as they are said to be, and what 
is the wine like ?" 

Over long, iced lemon squashes in her cool white 
house, Vingie bound Mr. Carter to the chariot 
wheels of her young charms. She outlined the un¬ 
fortunate predicament of Jim Andaside, and Mr. 
Carter shook his head. 

“I heard as much," he said sorrowfully, “but 
there's another complication since then. Somebody 


138 VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 

named Pink, Hildebrand Pink, has turned up with 
a car he calls the Demon Six. He rather splashes 
himself about, and candidly, he gets away with these 
Iberians. The commercial element has gone crazy 
over him, and they’ll certainly approach the presi¬ 
dent and try to get this contract away from Mr. 
Andaside. I don’t think you’ve arrived a minute 
too soon, but of course, any one with your person¬ 
ality, Miss Lauriston-” He paused and the 

pause vibrated with eloquence. “No people are 
more sensitive to feminine personality than the 
Iberians.” 

Pete Hannen, a thin, bitter little dark man, sat 
under the cafe awning, eyed his Iberian drink with 
disgust, and drew gratefully at a cigarette. 

“There’s a man called Pink, sir, come since you 
left,” he began. “Drives something he calls a 
Demon Six. I wouldn’t ’ave it draw my remains 
to the cemetery, but this Pink understands the 
natives all right. He’s got a racing body on ’er 
and no silencer and he always wears a crash helmet 
to make her look faster. Takes all his corners on 
two wheels, kills a couple of dogs most days, and 
comes down the Avenida with flr.mes shooting out 
of the exhaust pipe just when all the lads of the 



VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


139 


village are having their evening drink and giving 
the girls a treat. At the moment you couldn’t give 
away a Catapult as long as there was a Demon Six 
for sale. People are inclined to laugh at us. Of 
course, I ’aven’t said nothing. It’s true I did have 
to remove three or four young fellers from the pub 
where I generally get my glass of beer at night.” 

“What’s Pink like?” asked Jim Andaside. 

“I couldn’t say, sir, never having spoken to him, 
but he’s a big, hefty sort of bloke, and got red 
hair and curly at that and I don’t like him. I knew 
a red-haired girl once. ’S been a lesson to me.” 

Jim Andaside’s keen eyes wandered thoughtfully 
to the Sierra Morena which rises like the backcloth 
of a theatrical set behind the pleasant city of 
Peixoes. 

“What sort of a road runs over those moun¬ 
tains?” he asked. 

“Well sir, you know what they call a road in 
these parts. It’s the kind that makes a mule feel 
sorry for itself, and the gradient’s about one in one 
here and there, not to mention lumps of rock scat¬ 
tered about. Fit to tear the tires off a traction 
engine, I should say.” 

“I have fitted a set of unpuncturable tires to that 


140 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


chassis I brought out with me. I s’spose a racing 
Catapult hasn’t really anything to fear from Mr. 
Pink, has it, Pete?” went on Jim dreamily. 

Pete expectorated silently. 

“Just as I thought,” concluded Jim Andaside. 
“We’d better arrange a little hill climbing contest. 
Bear up, Pete, my lad; all is not lost, not by a jug¬ 
ful.” 

He went up to his room, and by much fluent per¬ 
suasion extracted a bath from the staff, shaved, 
changed, and drove himself gently in a despised 
Catapult to dine with Vingie, Sir Charles and 
Rupert. Over cocktails and cigarettes the air be¬ 
came electric. 

“I have most awful news,” began Vingie, “there’s 
a man called Pink-” 

“I know all about Pink, or Hildebrand as I pre¬ 
fer to call him,” interrupted Jim Andaside suavely. 
“I shall give his flesh to the beasts of the field and 
the fowls of the air.” 

“We must arrange a race or something and beat 
him,” continued Vingie. 

Jim shook his head. 

“I should be ashamed to take the prize,” he de¬ 
clared. “It would be murder to start a Catapult 



VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 141 

against that galloping bedstead of his. With your 
permission we’ll give the poor chap a chance and 
arrange a little reliability run up the Sierra Morena. 
You and the Senorita and Rupert can come as my 
passengers and Hildebrand can just take his poor 
self, and the car that goes farthest and comes back 
under its own power wins. It would look a bit 
personal if I were to suggest it, so perhaps you 
wouldn’t mind fixing up details with the president!” 

‘‘Does any one know a respectable local book¬ 
maker?” inquired Sir Charles. “The Iberians bet 
like blazes, and if all their money is going on this 
Pink fellow I might be able to get a very decent 
price about Jim. Have you any information, 
Rupert?” 

“I’ll go and ring up Harrington at the Embassy,” 
volunteered Rupert “He’s an honorary member 
of the Jockey Club. He might be able to get better 
odds than we should. It’s worth trying.” 

“Jim,” demanded Vingie, “are you perfectly sure 
you aren’t going to make a fool of me if I do what 
you ask?” 

“Perfectly, my dear lady. Hildebrand is a gear- 
grinder, a clutch-crasher, a brake-and-accelerator 
person. One needs a soul to drive cars, and he only 


142 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


possesses red hair and a face of brass. Pete has 
listened to Hildebrand’s engine day after day and 
it’s simply a sheep in wolf’s clothing. My Catapult 
has the heart of a lion although it purrs like a kit¬ 
ten and ticks like a clock.” 

Vingie drilled him with her ruthless gaze. 

“The del Sols are dining here to-morrow,” she 
said at last. “From what I hear of the old gentle¬ 
man, I may have a certain influence over him. 
You’d better not come, Jim, because of Maria 
Dolores. But if you and your Catapult let me down 
I shall simply hand you Charles’ revolver and you’ll 
know what to do.” 

Twenty-four hours later, all that was mortal of 
her veiled in a wisp of flame-colored inspiration, 
she received Senor Alphonso del Sol with precisely 
the right mingling of homage to his exalted office 
and stimulus to his masculine intuition. He wore 
the riband of the Order of the Flaming Sunset, a 
pretty thing in scarlet and gold, draped across his 
immaculate shirt-front, and dissolved easily into 
flowing gestures. Maria Dolores accompanied him, 
swaying from the hips, her lips red and passionate, 
her eyes dark and smoldering, mysterious beneath 
her mantilla, undeniably beautiful. 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


143 


When her glance fell upon Rupert Frack, tall and 
a thought austere, his earnest intelligent face 
molded into an expression of welcome tinged by that 
faint hauteur peculiar to the Foreign Office, her 
lips drew back a shade from the pearliest teeth in 
Iberia and a suspicion of warmth underlay the 
peach bloom of her cheek. Then her dark eyes 
swept Vingie from head to foot and her red upper 
lip curled in faint contempt. 

“She’s saying to herself: Thin cold northern 
skeleton, I will take the Caballero away from you 
before you know where you are/ 99 reflected Vingie, 
who missed very little. “Well, she can have Rupert 
if she likes, for the time being anyhow. Business 
before pleasure is my motto at the moment.” 

“I’m so delighted to meet you, Senorita,” she said 
aloud. “I’ve been looking forward to it most fright¬ 
fully. I think Iberia’s so wonderful. How lucky 
you are to live here always.” 

“Beautiful, yes—poor, alas!” returned the senorita. 
“In your country every one has several motor-cars. 
Here, sometimes an ox-cart, sometimes nothing.” 

Rupert Frack came forward to be presented; they 
moved slowly in the direction of the dining-room. 
Under the majestic aegis of Sir Charles’ butler, who 


144 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


hypnotized his Iberian staff, rising superior to ig¬ 
norance of the language as butlers and highly 
trained N. C. O.’s can rise, the meal glided like a 
perfect lyric to its close. Sir Charles spoke the 
epilogue with stately indulgence. 

“Senor, the other day we sat in the sun reviving 
our youth as old men do. We lamented the beauties 
of those days, but then I had not seen the senorita. 
With your permission, I raise my glass to your 
beautiful daughter.” 

His words roused two couples from mutual ob¬ 
livion. Senor Alphonso ceased to gaze into the eyes 
of Vingie. Rupert tore his glance from the slum¬ 
berous orbs of Maria Dolores. On the noticeable 
silence broke the clear tones of Vingie very sweetly: 

“Senorita, may I envy your delightful motor¬ 
car?” 

She referred tactfully to the gold and scarlet 
horror presented by Jim Andaside. Senor Al¬ 
phonso, courageous with wine, took up the tale. 

“It is indeed a delightful motor-car,” he asserted, 
“and in order to reform the internal communica¬ 
tions of my harassed country I had arranged to 
guarantee the purchase of a vast quantity of these 
cars. But opposition arose.” He looked sternly 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


i45 


at Maria Dolores. “And now a competitor arrives, 
a Senor Pink, with another car, and representations 
are made to me concerning it, as if I, the chief 
executive, did not know better than any one else 
what is good for Iberia.” 

Sir Charles permitted himself a rich chuckle. 

“I’m not a betting man, Senor Alphonso, but I’m 
prepared to risk a little money on your opinion. I 
happen to have a few shares in the company that 
makes your car.” 

Vingie gazed at the president with wide-open eyes 
and childish enthusiasm. 

“Why not arrange a sporting event, Senor? Sup¬ 
pose you made them both climb the Sierra Morena, 
and chose the one that got to the top and returned 
the first?” 

“Only a goat could climb to the top of the Sierra 
Morena,” declared Maria Dolores scornfully. 

“Well, the winner might be the one that got farth¬ 
est, and came back quickest,” amended Vingie, still 
with her infantile air. 

“It is a brilliant suggestion,” declared Senor 
Alphonso, placing his hand affectionately on Vin- 
gie’s bare arm. “I, the president, will arrange it. 
To-morrow I will summon the Senor Andaside and 


146 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


the Senor Pink. The affair will be as amusing as 
a bull fight, for one of them will certainly be killed, 
and perhaps both.” 

“My father is often foolish when he has taken a 
little wine,” observed Maria Dolores. “However, 
what do I care?” she turned exclusively to Rupert 
Frack. “I suppose you are greatly beloved by the 
ladies of your country, Senor?” she suggested with 
delicacy. 

Rupert Frack smiled sorrowfully. 

“My country is far away and I have no one to 
love me. It is hard, is it not, to be a stranger in 
a strange land?” 

“It is our duty to console the exile,” murmured 
the senorita and raised her eyes to his. 

When the gold and scarlet motor-car had rolled 
away, Vingie, sipping iced lemonade, considered her 
audience thoughtfully. 

“A nice pair, those two!” she said at last. “Upon 
my word, Charles, I had great difficulty in restrain¬ 
ing the old gentleman.” 

“There did indeed seem to be a slight atmosphere 
of sangre y arena at one time,” admitted Sir 
Charles. “I half feared a family quarrel might 
break out under our very eyes.” 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


147 


“Of course, Rupert’s behavior with that very 
crude young woman was simply disgraceful,” con¬ 
tinued Vingie. “I feel positive he was holding her 
hand under the table the whole time.” 

She rose to go to bed. Rupert took her empty 
glass, held her cloak, and arranged it reverentially 
about her white shoulders. 

“I assure you, Virginia, I was thinking of no one 
but you; for the rest my most sensitive feelings 
have simply been butchered to make an Iberian holi¬ 
day,” he answered, without a trace of hesitation. 

Seated under an awning and on the balcony of 
the city hall at the president’s right hand, Sir 
Charles gazed down on an animated scene. Two 
squadrons of the seventeenth Iberian Lancers and 
police innumerable controlled a vast crowd. Two 
cars, a four-seater Catapult containing Vingie and 
Jim Andaside in front, Maria Dolores and Rupert 
behind, and the licentious Demon Six with Hilde¬ 
brand Pink as sole passenger, stood bonnet by bon¬ 
net in the roadway. Presently the Orderly Trump¬ 
eter of No. 1 Squadron sounded the reveille, and 
at this signal the president arose, shut his eyes 
tightly and fired a revolver. With a terrific roar. 


148 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


the Demon Six tore away and was lost in a cloud 
of dust. Five minutes later the president fired 
again, and with the utmost deliberation Jim Anda- 
side started in pursuit. 

‘Well,” observed the president, “they are brave 
men. I wish my daughter had not insisted on par¬ 
ticipating, but she is a law unto herself. Let us 
retire, my friend, and drink a glass of wine to their 
safe return/’ 

The road from Peixoes to the Sierra Morena is 
impossible for ten miles, and then becomes unrecog¬ 
nizable. At the twelfth mile it crosses a river bed, 
dry at this season, but deep and sandy. Jim Anda- 
side, who had organized mechanical transport dur¬ 
ing the Great War in Eastern lands where there are 
no roads at all, ambled delicately over the ruts and 
bumps without a care in the world. 

“Note the attractiveness of cantilever springing 
and four wheel braking,” he said to Vingie, “neither 
of them standard on a Catapult, but how should 
the president know that? Don’t look so anxious; we 
shall find Hildebrand quite safely in the river bed.” 

Twelve miles they lurched and staggered with no 
other excitement than the pleasant conversation of 
Rupert Frack and the occasional prayers of Maria 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


149 

Dolores. Then on the brink of the river bed they 
halted, below their eyes a pathetic sight. 

At the foot of the steep descending bank a cloud 
of dust arose, churned by the revolving wheels of 
the Demon Six. They revolved indeed, but to no 
purpose; they gripped nothing; they merely stirred 
the foot-deep sand. Jim Andaside eyed the steam¬ 
ing radiator of the Demon Six and shook his head 
sadly. 

“Too bad," he murmured, “but it had to be. I 
felt sure Hildebrand would change down too late. 
Besides, he has no weight over the back axle. Now 
we have Maria Dolores." 

He turned to Vingie and spoke simply, as to a 
child. 

“In a case of this kind you will always engage 
first speed on the top of the downward slope, and 
give her every scrap of gas all the way down it. 
You will follow in any existing wheel tracks be¬ 
cause the ground under them will be more solid. 
These two precautions will get you up the opposite 
bank if anything will. I shall utilize those ruts 
made by some providential ox-cart. Now watch!" 

He snicked the gear lever into first, eased in the 
clutch and accelerated to the utmost. The Catapult 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


150 

roared down into the river bed, skewed a little in the 
loose dust, recovered at a touch of the steering 
wheel and rushed up the farther bank. Maria 
Dolores screamed. Jim Andaside retarded the igni¬ 
tion notch by notch; the rear wheels gripped and 
slipped and gripped again. Slowly, but safely the 
Catapult heaved herself over the crest on to level 
ground. Jim Andaside pushed out the clutch put 
the gear lever in neutral, and pulled in his side brake. 

“And that,” he explained calmly, “is how it’s 
done. We’d better go on a bit for the sake of ap¬ 
pearances, but Hildebrand will never get out unless 
he’s towed out.” 

They drifted over a scored and abraded earth 
for five miles or so, saluting certain officers stationed 
at intervals to report on the progress, if any, of the 
two cars. Under the shadow of an over-hanging 
cliff, Jim Andaside produced a very adequate lunch¬ 
eon basket. In the cool of late afternoon they be¬ 
gan the return journey. Amid the river bed the 
Demon Six still stood, but of Hildebrand Pink there 
remained no trace. 

“You shall drive the rest of the way to show how 
easy it is—with a Catapult,” said Jim Andaside to 
Vingie. “Remember—first speed, and all the gas.” 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


151 

“In heaven’s name no!” exclaimed Maria Dolores, 

“Calm yourself, Senorita; Miss Lauriston drives 
superbly,” retorted the owner of the Catapult, and 
Rupert restrained Maria Dolores with a firm yet 
gentle touch while Jim and Vingie exchanged seats. 

Again the Catapult roared down, skewed, recov¬ 
ered and flung upward. For one awful second Vin- 
gie’s nerve failed, her foot hesitated on the acceler¬ 
ator. A fierce face glared into hers. A frightful 
voice snarled, “Gas, damn it—gas!” The Catapult 
swept up and over; the remaining miles Vingie sur¬ 
vived with easy triumph. 

At the fine house of the president, Rupert handed 
Maria Dolores impressively from the car. She 
stood surveying Vingie with the supreme affection 
of one cat for another that has secured from it the 
succulent wing of a chicken. Her eyes spoke a lan¬ 
guage of knives and daggers, but her tongue dripped 
honey. 

“You have done well, Senorita,” declared Maria 
Dolores. “The victory of the afternoon is indeed 
yours. Now in celebration I will give a dinner 
party to you and these gentlemen and Sir Charles 
and to-night I will show you something. Perhaps 
the night may yet be mine!” 


152 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


She swept arrogantly into the coolness of the en¬ 
trance; Rupert Frack glanced a little wistfully at 
Vingie, and Jim Andaside shook his head. 

“I’d rather wear a shirt of mail this evening if I 
had one than a boiled shirt!” he murmured. “You,” 
he went on, turning to Vingie, “have scored over 
her; she was scared blue when you took the wheel. 
Beware of an Iberian revenge. It may be anything 
from scratching your face to poisoning your soup.” 

In spite of his foreboding, Vingie’s unscratched 
face smiled later over her unpoisoned soup. Only 
when, afterward, in the formal sparsely furnished 
salon Maria Dolores excused herself did Rupert 
Frack place his tall exquisite form nearer his tem¬ 
porary fiancee. The president leaned forward and 
indicated with lifted forefinger the point of the story 
he was telling Sir Charles. Two musicians in 
Iberian national costume entered carrying guitars 
and bowed before the president. 

At last came Maria Dolores, also in national cos¬ 
tume—long wide-skirted dress, high combed hair, 
and castanets complete—and proceeded to dance the 
dance of her country. 

Vingie sat upright in a stiff chair drinking in the 
scene. Harsh electric light fell nakedly on the 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


153 


highly colored costume; the musicians squatted on 
the floor, Maria Dolores turned slowly with stamp¬ 
ing of feet, and head thrown back, a provocative 
smile on her lips and castanets clicking miraculously. 

Vingie’s eyes sought the faces of all the men; 
they were set in a curious unblinking stare; even Sir 
Charles could not take his eyes off this slowly 
circling figure. Maria Dolores clicked her castanets 
triumphantly. It was the victory of the evening. 
Vingie might not have existed for the moment. She 
seemed like a little girl allowed to sit up late with 
her elders to witness an entertainment. 

Maria Dolores danced three dances, each a little 
more intriguing than the last, ending in a froth of 
whirling skirts. 

Sir Charles clapped his hands twice, sonorously. 

“Magnificent!” he declared to the president. 
“Your daughter has absolute genius. Really, my 
dear President, she eclipses anything I have seen 
on the stage for years.” He began to speak in 
technicalities. 

“Her power-to-weight ratio seems pretty good 
just now, I admit,” said Jim Andaside under his 
breath. “The trouble is, when she’s thirty, she’ll 
weigh a ton.” 


i54 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


“Rupert at any rate is positively obsessed,” re¬ 
torted Vingie. “He has the rapt look of the devotee 
seeing his goddess in a vision. We might be in 
Noah’s Ark instead of a drawing-room for all he 
knows or cares.” 

“My interest, purely academic, is merely the out¬ 
ward manifestation of an intelligent mind,” ex¬ 
plained Rupert a little plaintively. 

Vingie shrugged contemptuous shoulders. 

“Well, I’m frightfully tired. I’d like you to take 
me home please, if the cabaret show is quite 
over.” 

“A perfectly marvelous technique!” declared Sir 
Charles in the car. “I speak with some authority, 
having seen every creditable dancer for the last 
thirty years. Like poets, they are born, not made.” 

“Oh, the little more stocking and how much it is, 
and the little less and what worlds away!” mocked 
Vingie. “I want to talk to you people when we get 
home. Don’t you dare go to bed till I tell you.” 

In her own drawing-room she lighted a cigarette, 
curled into a chair, and regarded them coldly. 

“What about Pink, Jim?” she began. 

“He confessed all,” answered Jim Andaside. 
“He made the car himself out of oddments he picked 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


155 


up from the Disposals Board—old war stuff, you 
know. I lent him fifty pounds to get out of the 
country.” 

“Have you signed your contract with the presi¬ 
dent ?” 

“Not yet. I’m waiting for a sign from Maria 
Dolores. At present she seems a little distant.” 

“You!” jeered Vingie. “You are extinct, my 
young friend, Rupert is the blue-eyed darling, just 
now. She will never do anything for you unless I 
interfere. She so hates to think she ever thought 
twice about you when a Rupert existed.” 

She flicked cigarette ash delicately on to the floor. 
“This rather vulgar exhibition we’ve just witnessed 
has given me an idea, however,” she went on. “I 
suppose I can trust your judgment as to the merits of 
this young person’s dancing, Charles? And I sup¬ 
pose, Rupert, that George Fordingbridge would give 
his patronage to a theatrical entertainment to the 
extent of sitting in a box and lending tone to an 
otherwise undistinguished mob ?” 

“I think I can promise that much on his behalf,” 
declared Rupert. 

Vingie rose gracefully to her feet and stood for 
one moment fastidiousness incarnate. 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


156 

“I am going to bed,” she announced icily. “Which 
of you connoisseurs of Iberian limbs would like to 
open the door for me?” 

On the morrow, after the hour of siesta, Vingie 
put on a simple white frock and called upon Maria 
Dolores, ostensibly to inspect ancient Iberian lace, 
the heirlooms of ages. Her hostess received her 
intimately, clad in a wrapper, a cigarette of the coun¬ 
try between her lips. Presently, over the archaic 
cobwebs of needlework they talked as girl to girl. 

“Lace—silks—jewels, all are but toys to give us 
power over men,” declared Maria Dolores. She 
glanced down at her supple limbs and sighed. “If 
only there were men worthy of me,” she complained. 
“I am tired of Iberia. I’m a fit mate for an English 
prince, or an American millionaire.” 

“You do not love Mr. Andaside ?” queried Vingie 
innocently. 

“For a moment he interested me. Later I desired 
to win the Senor Frack away from you. At the 
time, I was angry but that is all over. Women 
should assist one another, Senorita. Men are our 
common prey.” 

“Mr. Frack is nothing to me. I have dozens of 
admirers,” said Vingie absently. “Sir Charles de- 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


157 


cided to visit Iberia as soon as he heard that your 
distinguished father wished to buy a large number 
of motor-cars. He felt Mr. Andaside was a trifle 
too young to act alone. Mr. Frack is a—a kind of 
secretary to Sir Charles. I believe there is some 
little difficulty to be cleared up.” 

“It is very well for my father. He will get a 
present from the motor-car company and commis¬ 
sion from every Iberian who buys a car, but I, what 
do I get, and I am cleverer than my father; besides 
he does what I tell him,” replied Maria Dolores 
moodily. 

“Sir Charles has talked of nothing but your 
dancing ever since last night,” Vingie went on. “If 
you were to come to London you would have society 
at your feet. We know absolutely every one; it 
would be quite simple to arrange for a theater, a 
manager, publicity, everything. An artistic triumph 
such as yours opens all doors, and any one as beauti¬ 
ful as you are might choose practically any man she 
likes for a husband.” 

“I have an old aunt who would act as my chap¬ 
eron,” mused Maria Dolores. “If what you say is 
true I think the little business difficulty of Senor 
Andaside would vanish.” 


158 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


"I will settle the details in twenty-four hours/* 
promised Vingie. 

Maria Dolores rose from her couch and flung 
away the cigarette. 

"Senorita Virginia/* she implored, "permit me to 
embrace you. May you have a thousand lovers, 
every one of them faithful !** 

Half an hour later Vingie stepped daintily across 
the threshold of the Hotel Nacional and demanded 
Jim Andaside. 

“Fve saved you/* she said briefly, "but don*t 
waste time being grateful. Get that car of yours 
and take me to Henry Carter. There isn’t a moment 
to lose.’* 

At Mr. Carter’s office she poured her tale into his 
sympathetic ear. He nodded gravely and made 
swift notes on a scribbling pad. "I’ve fed Berriman 
with a gentle stream of anecdotes,” he explained, 
"and the dust-up with Pink made a good story. The 
Maria Dolores stunt in London will be a scoop of 
course. I’ll send Berriman an S.O.S. cable.” 

"How perfectly charming of you,” murmured his 
fair accomplice, and in the light of her eyes he wrote 
with such eloquence as brought the reply from Mr. 
Berriman: 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


159 


“Dorian, eminent manager, agrees produce Maria 
Dolores, whole story exclusively to Daily Tale 

“You aren’t cross with me, Charles, darling? You 
don’t mind hurrying home?” pleaded Vingie that 
evening, straightening his tie with affectionate fin¬ 
gers. Sir Charles, who was really very fond of her, 
smiled indulgently. 

“On the contrary,” he declared, “we shall be back 
just in time for the Early Summer Handicap. I 
have a tip straight from the stable at very com¬ 
fortable odds.” 

Jim Andaside, a slight but exceedingly tough 
figure, stood on the pier to say good-by. He de¬ 
clined to leave the land of promise. “I shall remain 
on the Rhine, so to speak, until the reparation money 
is paid over,” he insisted. “Besides, an Eye- 
Opening Eight or a Terrible Twelve may come 
along. One never knows.” 

The S.S. Rodriguez commenced to shake the miles 
from her creaming wake. Through sunny days at 
sea Vingie began to depend exclusively on Sir 
Charles for spiritual companionship. Almost vio¬ 
lently she flung Maria Dolores and Rupert Frack 
together. When Sir Charles reproved her in his 
tactful fashion she smiled with lovely patience. 


i 6 o VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 

“I feel old and maternal, Charles. Let the young 
creatures play,” she said. 

In London Mr. Berriman was found to have ex¬ 
ceeded the liveliest expectations. His publicity 
proved of a superhuman cunning. The public stood 
on tiptoe to behold a new star. Lord Fordingbridge, 
invited to dine at Park Street, could hardly take his 
eyes from Maria Dolores. Afterward he went and 
sat by Vingie, and spoke with his usual rich 
charm. 

“For people with inherited taste like you and me 
she’s a bit obvious,” he rumbled, “but then, my dear, 
we are a small and dying company. The great mass 
of the electorate will go off their heads. She will 
even be pleasin’ to some of the young of our own 
set. I’ve been fairly clever, for me; her photographs 
are all over the place you know, and I’ve tipped her 
to a few likely young fellows in the Household 
Brigade—young Norreys and Jack Plinlimmon, and 
all that crowd. It’ll be a wonderful first night. 
I’ve got a box and you must promise to sit beside me, 
and bring Charles.” 

Vingie nodded absently. 

“Stay with me a little while if you will be so 
kind,” she begged. “I feel I’ve been living among 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 161 

dreadfully crude people. Are there any people 
nowadays, do you think? I begin to doubt it.” 

When Mr. Dorian, the well-known manager, saw 
Maria Dolores he wept for joy, and then bargained 
for an increased share of profits. He had dark 
curly hair and a conquering nose, and the shine of 
his silk hat and patent shoes made one think of 
diamonds. 

On the night when Maria Dolores made her debut 
at the Ommium Theater, the scenes baffled descrip¬ 
tion and the critics wished to hide themselves in the 
woods, because they knew it was not art, and were 
afraid to say so in the face of popular enthusiasm. 
As a matter of fact, they were right; it was the per¬ 
sonality and the supple form of Maria Dolores at 
the age of nineteen, before she became thirty and 
weighed a ton. 

Lord Fordingbridge flung an enormous bouquet 
on to the stage with the verve of a boy. 

“A thing I haven’t done since 1876,” he said 
apologetically to Virginia, “but it’s a good thing to 
let one’s self go occasionally and it’ll please the dear 
girl.” 

His voice dropped to a graver note. “I’ve paid 
the check into your account, if you’ll forgive the 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


162 

horrible sordid detail; we had a cable from Jim this 
afternoon to say the deal was settled. How happy 
Berriman looks down there in the stalls. His is the 
only paper with any exclusive news of our young 
friend.” 

“Well,” said Vingie with a little sigh. “I have 
deserved well of the state I suppose. If you want 
a monument to me, look over there.” She pointed 
to the rampart of roses on the stage. Lord Fording- 
bridge smiled gaily. 

“Largely, largely no doubt. But we must give a 
crumb of credit to Rupert. Y’see Dorian absolutely 
declined to risk his own money and backing had to 
be found. Rupert suggested Silby, the war-profiteer. 
He invented a sock with a little asbestos in the wool. 
Troops simply couldn’t wear ’em out. Silby sold 
thousands of millions of pairs. We put it to him as 
a semi-official matter, and as he’s anglin’ for a title, 
he was delighted. I felt quite proud of Rupert, the 
dear fellow.” 

Even as he spoke, Rupert Frack, in faultless kit, 
entered the box. Vingie summed him up in a com¬ 
prehensive glance. He smiled down joyfully. 

“Bill Norreys is giving Maria Dolores supper,” 
he announced. “She saw him in uniform when he 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 163 

was changing Guard at the Palace. I’ve ceased to 
exist. I’m so happy.” 

“Then perhaps you could spare time to take me 
home,” murmured Vingie. “I’m awf’ly tired. 
Charles and George are going to be boys again, I 
understand.” 

In the car she was very silent. She reserved the 
small drawing-room in Park Street for the epilogue 
of their adventure. 

She stood by the fireplace, a beautiful figure per¬ 
fectly turned out from head to foot and with a deli¬ 
cate gesture of resignation removed a diamond and 
sapphire ring from the third finger of her left hand 
to the third finger of her right. 

“I forgot about it before,” she explained. “It’s 
been very instructive to be engaged to you, Rupert. 
You’re very nice, but much too obliging. You not 
only obliged me but practically any woman who 
came along, particularly Maria Dolores. I s’pose 
it’s your diplomatic training.” 

Rupert’s expression became crestfallen. 

“I tried to be very tactful,” he declared. “I didn’t 
want to worry you in any way. But I was always 
there when you wanted me, and not a fragment of 
your luggage was lost in that thieving country.” 


164 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


Vingie shook her head sadly. 

“Probably I shall have to be thrashed into sub¬ 
mission," she murmured. “I seem to require a 
tigerish wooing. You're far too sympathetic to 
thrash any one. It would hurt you more than it hurt 
her. Good night, Rupert. Try not to break your 
heart too badly." 

She was standing alone, deep in thought, when Sir 
Charles returned. She went up to him and put her 
hands on his shoulders. “If only I could marry you, 
Charles, I should never want to sow another wild 
oat as long as I lived. But it would be too bad to 
do that. You've escaped for about forty years. 
You shall live on in your sentimental bird-sanctu¬ 
ary." 

She kissed him and went, sighing softly, to bed. 


VII 


O N the terrace of Wynwood, Vingie, curled 
subtly in a wicker armchair, passed and re¬ 
passed her needle through a scrap of fine, hand- 
woven linen. 

Hard by, Rupert, in a similar armchair, his tall 
lank form (once so unkempt, but Love is greatest 
of reformers) clothed in gray lounge suiting, 
straight from the caressing shears of Savile Row, 
glared stonily at her admirable profile. At last she 
said thoughtfully: 

“Rupert, you needn't sit there looking at me as if 
we were married and I were sewing tiny garments 
with an inscrutable smile on my face. We're noth¬ 
ing of the sort, and I'm only embroidering a hanky." 

“My dear Virginia," retorted Rupert with the 
most irritating patience, “if any one has a right to 
be justly annoyed, it is I, not you. I hardly know 
on what grounds you see fit to criticize me. I have 
just endured the deepest insult a woman has it in 
165 


166 VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 

her power to offer with, I trust, exemplary good 
manners.” 

“I’ve done nothing of the sort. I merely refused 
to marry you.” 

“That,” explained Rupert, “is the insult to which 
I referred.” 

Vingie leaned back in her chair, and gazed in 
front of her with an expression of serene amuse¬ 
ment. Small breezes kissed her satin cheek and dis¬ 
turbed her fair hair, bearing from the rose-garden 
faint, intoxicating scents. Her heart sang little 
songs of triumph, inarticulate things which if inter¬ 
preted would have described how a tall strong gen¬ 
tleman murdered other tall strong gentlemen for 
love of her, subsequently dragging her away by the 
hair to a sequence of unparalleled honeymoons. She 
turned again to Rupert. 

“Anything more ghastly selfish than men I never 
met,” she complained. “You may not remember, 
Rupert, that yesterday I was twenty-one. In spite 
of that you’d like to tie me down, a mere girl, for 
life, never, officially at any rate, to look at any other 
man but you. There are thousands of men in the 
world I’ve never met; some day I s’pose I shall have 
to marry, but the time is far off.” 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


167 


Rupert rose and shook his shoulders with a hardly 
perceptible gesture, as if he shed a weight of an 
unbearable responsibility. 

“I don’t feel as if I could stay in the house any 
longer,” he announced bitterly. "I dare say in time 
I shall be able to meet you with comparative calm, 
Virginia, but at the moment my most sacred feelings 
have been outraged. I shall go down to the Home 
Farm and ask Mrs. Giles if she can give me a bed 
over the week-end. I return to town on Monday in 
any case. Perhaps you will be kind enough to ex¬ 
plain my absence to Uncle Charles.” 

He stalked moodily from the terrace. Vingie 
watched him go with a faint shrug. “The child de¬ 
prived of his toy. How babyish all men are when 
it comes to the point when they can’t get what they 
want!” she murmured. “I dare say I shall have dif¬ 
ficulties even with dear Charles when I tell him. 
But there! Why meet trouble half-way?” 

She rose, stretched our her arms to the incal¬ 
culable promise of sun and blue sky, and sauntered 
slowly indoors toward the dim coolness of the 
library. 

Sir Charles rose to greet her from the depths of 
his armchair, placed the book he was reading care- 


168 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


fully on a table and smiled with exactly the right 
mixture of homage and affection. 

He said gently: 

“Crabbed age and youth can not live together, 
but I will at least ma^e every effort. You look 
singularly resolute, my dear Virginia. It is a very 
warm day for resolution.” 

She laid a hand affectionately on his shoulder, 
pushed him back into the chair, sat on the arm of it 
and gazed down at him. 

“Charles,” Vingie began. “I’ve just refused to 
marry Rupert.” 

If Sir Charles was surprised he did not show 
it. 

“Marriage,” he observed, “is a woman’s fortress 
and man’s prison. One day you will come to it, and 
then you may remember what I say.” 

“As I’ve told you before, he doesn’t know a thing 
about women; he can’t make love, I might as well 
marry a wild animal, and I don’t want to marry any 
one,” objected Vingie. 

“When you do, there may not be any one to 
marry,” retorted Sir Charles. “Competition in the 
marriage market becomes more a matter of ferocity 
every day.” 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


169 


Vingie ran caressing fingers through his hair. 

“Charles, do you realize I was twenty-one yester¬ 
day ?” 

“I thought my humble string of pearls, all that 
my financial position will allow at the moment, but 
I wish it had been ten times as long-” 

“Hush, darling! They were perfectly lovely. 
What I mean is, I’m grown up. I want to try my 
own wings just a teeny bit. It isn’t that you’re not 
an angel to me, but every grown-up person has to 
taste blood once in a lifetime. Leonie Falsecastle’s 
going to stay in East Africa for a bit, and she’d let 
me her flat off Portland Place. She leaves a very 
decent cook, and I can take Mary to look after me. 
You won’t mind, will you, Charles ?” 

“ To-day the almonds bloom in Kandahar,’ ” 
quoted Sir Charles. “Only youth breaks its heart 
over partings, Virginia, but I shall be sorry if you 
persist very long in this idea. I have a horror of 
what is called the bachelor girl. Women were 
meant to be taken care of by some man. Inde¬ 
pendence, as it is called, demoralizes them dread¬ 
fully. Their faces take on an aggressive expression, 
and they gnash their teeth when they speak. How¬ 
ever, the experience will be good for you and you 



VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


170 

have been so accustomed to consideration that it 
may not endure very long.” 

“You’re so sensible, Charles, I’m afraid you’ve 
lived a very bad life,” murmured Vingie. “Opposi¬ 
tion would have hardened me, but now I don’t want 
to go a little bit.” 

“Well,” observed Sir Charles, “all I beg of you 
is not to invite me to dinner. The greatest curse 
in life at my age is inferior cookery and a haphazard 
idea of housekeeping. However advanced women 
may suppose themselves to be nowadays, they still 
consider a bottle of wine and a bottle of Worcester 
sauce in much the same spirit.” 

Vingie slid from the arm of the chair, hesitated 
and stood for a moment in thought. 

“I hope I didn’t hurt Rupert’s feelings,” she said 
at last. “Of course he’s a dear thing really. But, 
Charles, he asked me to tell you he can’t stay under 
the same roof with me. He’s going over to the 
home farm till Monday morning.” 

Sir Charles hastened to reassure her. 

“You needn’t feel the least alarm, my dear Vir¬ 
ginia. A man’s first instinct on meeting with a 
reverse at the hands of a woman is to make himself 
as uncomfortable as possible. It’s a sort of senti- 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


171 

mental homeopathy; one form of misery counteracts 
the other. I should be grieved if he were to drown 
his sorrows in drink, but the difference between his 
bedroom here and his bedroom there is unimportant. 
He will even enjoy his privations in some extra¬ 
ordinary way.” 

“Men,” complained Vingie, “have an appalling 
knack of proposing at the wrong moment.” 

“No doubt you are right,” responded Sir Charles. 
“As it happens I can not speak from personal ex¬ 
perience. I have always exercised restraint in these 
matters.” 


VIII 


INGIE, stroking on a glove with ecstatic fin- 



V gers, gazed round the best bedroom of Leonie 
Falsecastle’s flat with much the same expression as 
stout Cortez displayed when he stared at the Pacific, 
silent upon a peak in Darien. 

“You don’t look happy, Mary!” she observed. 
“Hasn’t our independence any charm for you? 
Have you realized we can do exactly as we like 
regardless of consequences?” 

The pretty maid ran her hand mechanically into 
the foot of a silk stocking and sighed. 

“I always had a great deal of liberty at Wynwood, 
miss,” she answered sorrowfully. “More charming 
people than the servants’ hall there I never wish to 
meet, particularly the second chauffeur, and here 
there’s nobody at all except that there image of a 
cook.” 

“Friends will rally round you,” promised Vingie. 
“This isn’t the only flat in the block and the hall 


172 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


173 


porter’s frightfully good-looking. Bear up! I shall 
be back early after lunch, unless anything exciting 
happens.” 

She sank to the ground floor in a gilded cage, 
bringing back into the lift-boy’s soul all he had ever 
beheld of Theda Bara, Mae Murray, Bebe Daniels, 
and other Helens of that modern Troy situated in 
California. The hall porter swept a taxi to the curb 
rather than summoned it. Vingie stood a moment 
lost in thought. 

“The Savoy!” she commanded at last. 

“I’m alone!” she crooned dreamily as they 
breasted the surge of the traffic. “Nobody knows 
where I am, what I’m going to eat, when I shall go 
home. I can do exactly as I please. How wonder¬ 
ful the world looks sometimes!” 

It is the business of all good maitres d’hotel to 
know every one; they stand before kings, princes, 
and governors and deal out justice tempered with 
mercy. The face of the Honorable Virginia Laur- 
iston is not strange to fame; she smiled kindly at 
the ambassadorial presence who greeted her and 
shook her head. “I’m waiting for somebody. 
Probably he’s got a table,” she explained, and turned 
aside to a superlative chair. 


174 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


For Vingie who had never done anything of the 
kind before, it seemed the very breath of adventure 
to sit in the vestibule of the great restaurant, the 
guest of no one, unexpected of any, and watch the 
come and go of all the sundry. She presented an 
aloof alluring figure, with the straight lines of the 
modern girl, very self-sufficing, and played at being 
alone in the world, penniless, hungry, seeking some 
man whom she could trust sufficiently to ask in the 
language of eyes for her lunch. It seemed so real 
that a little thrill of faintness passed through her; 
there emanated a distinct wave of brutality from the 
average well-fed male. 

“Hell have to be very young; they’re kind and 
sympathetic when they’re young—before too many 
of us have sponged on them,” reflected Vingie. 

As if in answer to her prayers, at that very mo¬ 
ment there passed toward her through the door a 
quite young man, pale and dark, upon whose slight 
shoulders care, the Black Horseman, rode without 
remorse. 

She watched the young man pause, remove his hat 
and pass a handkerchief across his damp brow. His 
sensitive nostrils dilated, and his troubled blue eyes 
sought in vain a friendly face amid this throng of 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


175 


strangers. His clothes, his manner and the cut of 
his hair suggested the unspiritual wealth of the 
suburbs rather than the insolvent charm of the West 
End. His glance met Vingie’s and he made a per¬ 
ceptible movement toward her even as a child turns 
to its mother; then with a flush of embarrassment 
he moved irresolutely in the opposite direction. 

With all the hauteur of an abandoned woman 
Vingie rose and stalked frigidly across his path. As 
she did so a bunch of artificial violets at her breast 
detached itself and fell almost at his feet. Remotely 
elegant, Vingie pursued her path. A hand plucked 
at her sleeve; she turned haughtily to perceive the 
blue-eyed stranger. 

“Pardon me—your flowers,” explained the young 
man, licking his dry lips. 

He stood offering them, intolerably plaintive, and 
if he had had a tail he would have wagged it. His 
entire being announced dumbly she was not that sort 
of girl, and even if she had been he was not that 
kind of man. 

Vingie, with a pretty smile, took the violets from 
his hand and said: “Thank you so much. Have you 
a pin ?” 

The young man passed moist, imploring* hands 


176 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


over his body in search of pins he knew to be non¬ 
existent. Finally he announced in depairing tones 
that he had no pin but would obtain one if it cost him 
his life, or words to that effect. She let him go on 
a wild piece of knight-errantry, watched him appeal 
to a uniformed man who sent little boys dashing 
hither and thither. Finally he returned with as¬ 
sorted spoil and offered it. Vingie secured the 
violets in leisurely fashion while the young man 
watched as in a dream. 

“I’ve given you a great deal of trouble,” she said 
in a gentle voice. “I’m ever so grateful, particularly 
as you look dreadfully worried. You see, I rather 
value these violets, as it happens.” 

“They come out at three pounds the dozen 
bunches wholesale, but I dare say you paid ten shil¬ 
lings for them,” he replied absently, and then 
blushed scarlet. 

“What on earth-?” began Vingie. 

Omnipotence descended on them, wrapped in a 
smile. 

“This way, Madame,” exclaimed Omnipotence, 
and swooped forward into the restaurant. He 
revealed his carefully wrought miracle, a table de¬ 
cently secluded, not too near the band and not too 



VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


177 


far away. Vingie seated herself; the young man 
collapsed into the chair on her right. A waiter com¬ 
menced the ritual of luncheon. 

“Of course, it’s all a mistake and you aren’t to 
pay for my lunch,” said Vingie, with a happy sigh, 
“though now we are here you may as well tell me 
what’s on your mind. But, my dear man, for 
heaven’s sake pretend to look after me, and order 
some food and put a brave face on things or they’ll 
think I’m a nurse in plain clothes and you’re my 
patient.” 

The young man, turning to the waiter, rapped out 
a sequence of commands in the most hard-hearted 
fashion. Then he became his mild distracted self. 

“My name is Anthony Brooks,” he began, “and, 
as you suggest, I am in sad trouble. But you would 
hardly understand, for I don’t suppose business ever 
comes into your life. I hope it never will, Miss 
’Er.” 

“I’m Virginia Lauriston. Go on!” commanded 
Vingie. 

He smiled as one humoring a woman, or a lunatic. 

“I am at the parting of the ways,” he declared. 
“Either I continue and risk everything, or I get out 
and remain with a pittance. If only I knew a little 


i;8 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


about women I could make up my mind more 
easily.” 

Vingie looked at him pitifully. 

“You don't mean you’re going to get married?” 
she asked. 

Anthony Brooks blushed, put down his soup 
spoon and looked her squarely in the face. 

“Before the war my father was comparatively a 
wealthy man,” he explained. “We lived in some 
luxury at Surbiton, and I never imagined I should 
need to work. However, he has just died and I find 
myself with a few thousand pounds and a dress¬ 
making business in Bond Street, which father 
owned. He was a widower and at one time I be¬ 
lieve there may have been something between him 
and the manageress of those days. However, she 
left when the business began to lose money. It’s been 
losing money ever since. What I must settle is 
whether to try to make it pay, .or sell it for what it 
will fetch. My capital isn’t large enough to divide. 
If I stick to the business all the money will have 
to go into it.” 

Vingie shook her head gravely. 

“I want grilled sole, please,” she said. “There’s 
not the faintest use you trying to run this dress- 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


179 


making show alone. My dear man, you were born 
a victim for women. Any woman could do what she 
pleased with you. Look where you’ve landed this 
morning for instance—at lunch with me, a complete 
stranger, just because I meant you to.” 

“Women,” retorted Anthony Brooks with the 
bigoted assurance of the entirely ignorant, “are just 
like anybody else. Treat them fairly and they will 
respond fairly. Attempt to browbeat them and they 
will burst into tears and break their hearts.” 

“My dear,” said Vingie very sincerely, “take 
your few thousands and buy an annuity, or War 
Loan, or hire a piano organ and grind it in the 
streets, but give up this idea of a dressmaking busi¬ 
ness. You’ll be bullied by your staff and find your¬ 
self dressing a lot of customers free of charge, 
simply because they’ve told you some hard-luck 
story.” 

“I raised the wages of the staff only this morn¬ 
ing,” confessed Anthony Brooks defiantly. “They 
have as much right to the money as I have. After all 
they produce it—that is, they would produce it if 
the place wasn’t being run at a loss.” 

“I would like peche Melba, please,” murmured 
Vingie in a far-away voice. Her eyes saw visions 


i8o VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 

of splendor; she molded costly fabrics on the supple 
forms of beautiful girls; the fame of her name 
ricochetted from boudoir to baronial hall; she 
created costumes for musical comedies and remedied 
the dry respectability of clothes worn in court cir¬ 
cles. She intrigued with charmeuse and dreamed 
in cloth of gold. 

“On the other hand,” she went on, “if you were 
to take me into partnership I could raise a little 
capital and save you from this fatal softness of 
yours where women are concerned. A great many 
useful people would come to us for their clothes out 
of sheer curiosity. I could get a little work out 
of the blonde enchantress whose wages you’ve just 
raised. The maitre d’hotel can tell you all about 
me, and if you care to ring up the Foreign Minister, 
he’s an old friend of mine. Besides, I know a man 
in the Daily Tale who’d give us some very useful 
publicity. It’s always rather a stunt if a society girl 
tries to do a job of work.” 

Anthony Brooks looked doubtfully across the 
small table. He had heard of sirens without ever 
meeting one, and although her clothes, her appur¬ 
tenances, and a certain expectation of being obeyed 
commended Vingie to him, he had not the remotest 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


181 


idea who had paid for her belongings, and her name 
meant nothing in Surbiton. 

“What is your real reason for suggesting a part¬ 
nership?” he asked with dreadful cunning. 

Vingie exhaled a little cloud of scented smoke. 

“Adventure, the fight for a business that’s going 
down-hill, and an opportunity to run a show of my 
own,” she answered. “You’ll never get so good an 
offer from anybody else. I’ll put up a thousand 
pounds capital and not take a penny out till the place 
is paying. Harden your heart, Mr. Brooks, and 
take the plunge!” 

“Who are your solicitors, please?” inquired Mr. 
Brooks, still darkly. 

“Scrymgeour, Scrymgeour & Fortescue, 1002 
St. James Street,” she answered, giving the name 
of Sir Charles’ men of business without a second’s 
hesitation. 

“Mine are Abrahams & Abrahams, 4914 Chan¬ 
cery Lane.” 

Vingie crushed out her cigarette-end and drew 
money from her wrist-bag. 

“Let’s go and pick up one of the chosen people 
in a taxi and take him round to Scrymgeour and 
fix it,” she suggested. 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


182 


“I insist on paying for lunch/’ began Mr. Brooks 
turning rather red, but she raised a protesting hand. 

“This is a Dutch treat, partner. When the busi¬ 
ness is paying you can take me out and celebrate. 
Till then we’ll settle our own expenses.” 

It is certain that the chiseled, aristocratic profile 
of Mr. Scrymgeour expressed all, if not more than 
he felt when the ward of his distinguished client, 
Sir Charles Gillespie, came with alien solicitors and 
an entire stranger to enter into a deal of partner¬ 
ship. The very furniture in the room—and nothing 
had been touched since 1721—cried fie upon this 
outrage. Nevertheless the influence of a pretty girl 
is such that no open quarrel ensued, although the 
whole affair ruined Mr. Scrymgeour’s golf for sev¬ 
eral weeks. They delved in balance sheets and 
audits, hereunto and thereunto they set their seals, 
and the deed was done. 

Vingie entering number ten Criteria Mansions 
toward the hour of dinner clung in exhaustion to 
Mary and then sank on to a divan, a black satin 
divan bestrewn with cushions. 

“Mary,” she gasped, “I’m quite dead, but I’ve 
taken a quarter share in a frock shop. For heaven’s 
sake tear my things off and get me the hottest bath 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 183 

and half fill it with bath-salts. I want to wallow 
and gloat." 

“Really, miss!" responded Mary politely, answer¬ 
ing the first part of the remark. She coaxed off 
shoes and stockings, removed a frock and loosened 
masses of wavy hair. A small private smile played 
about her mouth. 

“Give me a cigarette and tell me what you're 
grinning at!" demanded Vingie. 

The smile widened, and Mary glanced down 
coyly. 

“It's the hall-porter, miss," she confessed. “As 
you said, he is rather good-looking, and such a 
gentlemanly young fellow." 


IX 


I N the early morning seclusion of 14 Breath 
Street, Bond Street, Anthony Brooks showed 
Vingie his little world. 

‘This is the salon,” he explained proudly. She 
saw a medium-sized room done in green and gold, 
vile with velvet, its mirrors molded and twisted and 
gilded. She nodded speechlessly. 

A tall blonde girl slumped across the carpet in 
a sidelong crawl, one shoulder higher than the other, 
knees pressed together. The expression on her face 
suggested contemptuous refusal to put a penny in 
some one's missionary box. She exhibited one of 
the house's evening gowns. Wherever trimming 
could go on it trimming was. 

“Miss Dodsworthy, our star mannequin,” beamed 
Anthony Brooks. 

Vingie nodded again. She dared not speak. 
“This,” he continued, indicating a highly modern 
young person of twenty-two, in black charmeuse 
184 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 185 

that showed every line of her boyish figure, bobbed 
haired, silk-ankled, manicured and made up to the 
eyes, “is Miss Buxton, our manageress.” 

Vingie smiled genially on Miss Buxton with hell 
in her heart and put out a slender hand. 

“And this,” concluded Anthony Brooks, in the 
manner of a chairman introducing the comic turn, 
“is Miss Glymp, who is learning the business.” 

Vingie beheld a sallow-faced girl of sixteen with 
black hair and the sharpest eyes in the world. She 
wore her hair in a plait, dressed in black alpaca, and 
appeared to be on the alert for a slap or a scolding 
at any moment. 

“Now then, Miss Glymp!” admonished Miss Bux¬ 
ton. 

The eyes of Vingie flickered for one second in 
the eyes of Miss Glymp, to breed complete under¬ 
standing. A hand stretched out to grasp Miss 
Glymp’s little paw. “Good morning,” said Vingie 
and the undercurrent implied: “Don’t worry, Cin¬ 
derella. Watch me handle the two ugly sisters!” 

Anthony Brooks led Vingie away to his private 
office. The manageress and the mannequin gazed 
after. 

“Well, I never!” exclaimed Miss Buxton. 


i86 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


“Ts! Ts!” agreed Miss Dodsworthy, resuming 
a natural pose. 

"A fine madam to bring into a respectable busi¬ 
ness, I don’t think!” elaborated Miss Buxton. 

“Loathesome!” said Miss Dodsworthy languidly. 

A faint giggle startled their ears. It came from 
Miss Glymp. It was the first time she had ever 
dared to giggle. 

“Now then, Sauce!” snarled Miss Buxton. 
“Have you tideed your show-room? No! Then 
go and tidee it this instant!” 

“You know, Anthony,” said Vingie, leaning back 
in the visitor’s chair, “this place is absolutely fatal.” 

“I don’t understand,” he faltered, a little shocked 
at the use of his Christian name. 

“That room—those women! The room looks 
like a coffin-maker’s dream of Heaven, and the two 
women simply make one’s skin feel like sand-paper 
all over. The kid’s all right. She’s got some 
brains.” 

“What do you suggest?” inquired Anthony a 
little stiffly. 

“Get the decorators in and get the women out I 
should think. No decent person would put up with 
either. By the way, is that strange garment on Miss 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


187 


Dodsworthy’s rather limp back a fair specimen of 
the goods we stock, Anthony? If so, I think a 
rebuilding sale is indicated, with murderous reduc¬ 
tions in all departments." 

Anthony Brooks made a last ineffective stand 
against his beautiful tyrant. 

“For many years, my father, a respected man in 
the soft-goods trade, ran this business on these lines. 
I propose to continue. True we aren't showing a 
profit, but owing to post-war depression, high taxa¬ 
tion and so on, times are bad. However, a trade 
boom is imminent-” 

Vingie held up a reproving finger, 

“Newspaper stuff," she answered cruelly. “I 
don't propose to sit here till my chin sags, making 
an occasional ten pounds and thanking God the 
brokers aren't in, Anthony. If we aren’t booming 
in less than a year I cut my losses and depart. I 
know all the people we want to get, the people with 
money or influence or both, and I'll get them. They 
don't live in Surbiton, but Surbiton will follow them, 
and so will Manchester and Yorkshire. Also, we’ll 
find a new staff. Leave the women to me, my dear, 
and you keep the books and boss up the commission¬ 
aire who stands outside. Do you agree?" 


188 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


“I insist,” he said weakly, “on these ladies being 
given another chance.” 

Vingie sighed. “Ring the bell, please,” she com¬ 
manded. When Miss Glymp arrived, her dark eyes 
snapping, Vingie put a hand affectionately on her 
arm and requested the presence of Miss Dods- 
worthy. 

The star mannequin curved through the doorway 
in her filleted fashion, put a hand up to her blonde 
head as though to reassure herself of its existence 
and said: 

“You wished for me, Mr. Brooks?” 

“No,” explained Vingie silkily, “I rather wanted 
to see you, Miss Dodsworthy. The point is, were 
you born tired or do you consider it lady¬ 
like?” 

“7 don’t think 7 quite understand,” observed Miss 
Dodsworthy loftily. 

“Perhaps you aren’t well?” suggested Vingie. 

“7 am in perfect health, 7 thank you.” 

“I doubt if you could stand hacking ten miles to 
a meet, hunting all day in the rain and hacking 
eighteen miles home, Miss Dodsworthy.” 

“7 am not acquainted with horse-riding, nor wish 
to be. 7 have my figure to consider,” retorted Miss 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


Dodsworthy looking at Vingie’s lines with a dis¬ 
paraging stare. 

“Well, the fact is I’m a partner in this business 
now. If you care to go through a stiff course of 
physical culture, and elocution, we might be able to 
use you. Otherwise-” 

“I do not think I should care-” 

“Fired, Anthony,” said Vingie briefly. “Good 
morning, Miss Dodsworthy. Send Miss Buxton 
please.” 

“No wonder women hate one another. Anything 
more heartless I never imagined,” declared An¬ 
thony. 

“Can’t afford passengers, my friend. Oh, Miss 
Buxton, if you’ll wash that stuff off your face, 
and be taught how to make up properly, and not 
show so much of your legs, and stop bullying that 
kid in there, you can stay on. Otherwise, I’m afraid 
you’ll have to go.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Brooks,” said Miss Buxton, ig¬ 
noring Vingie, “I should like to leave instantly.” 

“I suggest a month’s pay, each, Anthony,” was 
Vingie’s only comment. “Now we’ll ring up a good 
decorator, and get a typist along. We must put 
out these sale notices, and start looking for a couple 




VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


190 

of decent mannequins, and get on to the wholesale 
houses. I’ll manage the place for the time being, 
with that kid as my second string. Hurry, there’s 
a dear.” 

At night she found awaiting her a note from Sir 
Charles. 

“My dear Virginia: 

“Scrymgeour has acquainted me with your busi¬ 
ness transactions. He seems filled with alarm. 
Personally, I take up the attitude of Gamaliel who 
observed in another connection. Tf this council or 
this work be of men it will come to nought: But if 
it be of God, ye cannot overthrow it.’ 

“Nevertheless I ought to warn you that in my 
experience a man who will enter into financial ar¬ 
rangements with a woman to whom he is not related 
by marriage or kinship is invariably an insufferable 
blighter. 

“Your affectionate, 

“Charles Gillespie.” 

“Poor darling,” murmured Vingie sympathetic¬ 
ally. “How I hate leaving him, but it has to be. 
Some day I’ll take Anthony down to Wynwood and 
show how harmless he is.” 

She was too busy to do more than sigh. Anthony 
Brooks, far from being one of nature’s born gam¬ 
blers, hung heavy on her hands, grudging the ex- 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


191 

penditure of capital. Vingie drove him as with 
whips to a decorative scheme of gray and powder 
blue, hired two sylphs who displayed frocks like 
fallen angels, and replenished the stock in the spirit 
of a girl trained from infancy to depend on clothes. 
Nevertheless, prosperity lagged. 

She sat one sunlit morning, the loveliest thing in 
London, opposite him, staring across the private 
office of 14 Breath Street, Bond Street, the curve of 
her chin propped on her two hands. 

“Anthony,” she said at last, “get me a taxi. I’m 
going to do what is called 'enlist the services of the 
press.’ ” 

“We can’t afford any more advertising,” began 
Anthony, but she waved him aside. 

“It won’t cost anything, you poor fish. You never 
realize what good copy I am, or how many people 
I know. Look at my face, my figure, my name, my 
clothes! News editors have more sense than you, 
Anthony, especially my darling Mr. Berriman.” 

At eleven thirty a.m. she found the pleasant man 
in the vast premises of the Daily Tale, his clean¬ 
shaven, clever face alert for the possibility of news. 
Telephones hedged him round, and damp proofs 
fluttered all about him. 


192 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


“My dear Miss Lauriston, how do you do? No 
doubt you bring me the historic scoop at last!" he 
beamed, with one eye on the clock. 

Vingie shook her head and smiled. She made a 
fair ornament in the soulless, efficient room. 

“Only a little personal one at the moment. I've 
started a frock shop: 'Society beauty takes to com¬ 
merce.' But any facilities regarding divorce, black¬ 
mail, or scandal that come along are yours for the 
asking, and I’ll really buy a wee little bit of adver¬ 
tising space if you insist. Don’t you think you could 
send a nice sympathetic reporter to interview me? 
Do make it a man though. Women are so hard on 
their own kind." 

Mr. Berriman began to think aloud in the terms 
of his craft. 

“ 'Beauty in Business; Aristocrat Acquires 
Atelier; Gifted Girl’s Gesture in Gowns,’ " he mur¬ 
mured. “I think we might risk half a column, Miss 
Lauriston. There’s always a certain sentimental in¬ 
terest about putting a butterfly to work." 

“Of course I take my work intensely seriously, 
Mr. Berriman." 

“Undoubtedly. They always do. If you could 
spare half an hour at three p.m.? Thank you so 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 193 

much!” murmured Mr. Berriman and bowed her 
out. 

Nevertheless, the rise of the business, the first 
steps of Anthony Brooks toward becoming Lord 
Mayor of London, the solvency of Vingie and many 
other miracles date from that historic afternoon. 
At the bidding of his chief, Mr. Gilbert Anstruther, 
late of Oxford University, took a taxicab westward, 
and wrote the famous interview that began: 

“In the Forest of Arden, which clods do call 
Breath Street, W., I found Titania wielding magic 
shears. Fairies of surpassing beauty displayed on 
their lovely forms those gossamer fabrics whose 
composition is of dragonflies’ wings. I would I 
were some sloe-eyed daughter of the idle rich, that 
I might veil my charms in the woven lyrics which 
the Honorable Virginia Lauriston, another of our 
aristocracy to descend into the hustling marts of 
Commerce, is merchandizing with such grace and 
brio in a promising new venture.” 

Here followed a Latin quotation, but the sub¬ 
editor swore and cut it out. 

It brought Vingie the Goold-Tamberlaine wed¬ 
ding to dress. Every profiteer’s wife rushed to 
Breath Street, where, surely an Honorable would 
know exactly the right thing for her to wear. Vin- 


194 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


gie appeared at important first nights, and the very 
select dance clubs in a sequence of toilets that wrung 
tears of envy to ruin many a carefully-wrought 
complexion. As a crowning triumph she designed 
the gowns for the cabaret scene in one of Mr. 
Dorian’s remarkable super-revues. 

On a day when the sun shone passionately into 
her little personal room at Breath Street, where she 
sat at her Louis Quinze escritoire, her eyes sparkling 
with the delirium of business, the little side-curls 
that hid her ears darling enough to break any man’s 
heart, Lord Fordingbridge drew up his pair-horse 
phaeton outside these arcadian premises. 

The noble lord descended, caressed the shining 
quarter of the near wheeler, nodded to the commis¬ 
sionaire, and ambled into the reception room, his 
gray tall hat slightly a-tilt, a flaming carnation in 
the button-hole of his gray frock coat. He removed 
the hat, and a genial smile lightened his rubicund 
countenance as Miss Glymp came to receive him. 
He patted her absently on the head. 

“I should be greatly obliged if Miss Lauriston 
could spare me a moment,” he rumbled. “Will you 
run along like a good little gal and tell her Lord 
Fordingbridge would like to see her, please?” 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


195 


Miss Glymp, who had never hitherto had her head 
patted, been called a little gal, or run along any¬ 
where, disappeared in some disorder. Lord Ford- 
ingbridge, who stood six feet two in his socks, 
prowled absently into the salon and beheld the two 
sylphs posturing in joy-gowns for a lady client. 
He screwed an eyeglass firmly into position and 
began frankly to enjoy himself until Miss Glymp 
led him to Vingie. 

Lord Fordingbridge lifted her slender fingers to 
his lips, looked doubtfully at the furniture, and sub¬ 
sided, with misgivings, on to a window-seat. 

“My dear, my dear, this is all very preposterous, 
and yet it has its charm,” he began. “You look 
positively blooming if I may say so. Charles is 
widowed and despondent, but he tries to bear up. 
He asked me to tell you Lycidas is an absolute gift 
for the Canterbury Stakes. I can get you on at 
twenties, but mum’s the word.” 

“I gamble in better things these days, George, 
dear. I’m quite indecently well-off. Is there any¬ 
thing I can do for you ?” 

Lord Fordingbridge sighed. 

“This place reminds me so much of a certain 
young woman’s surroundings in the Paris of my 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


196 

youth,” he said irrelevantly. “Still I couldn’t very 
well call at your flat. I should have liked to send 
Rupert—youth to youth, my dear Virginia—but 
alas, an estrangement seems to have come between 
you two. Rupert’s a great stickler for etiquette. 
He declined to thrust himself on you. Y’see, I’m 
rather at my wits’ end, and I think you could help 
me if you would.” 

Vingie pressed a bell. “Russian tea and ciga¬ 
rettes, and I’m engaged for the next hour,” she 
commanded Miss Glymp. Lord Fordingbridge 
sipped his amber drink, savored his cigarette and 
gazed at her through half-shut eyes. She avoided 
his gaze and smoked quickly. 

“Rupert and I—oh, well I expect I hurt his feel¬ 
ings. You see I couldn’t marry him—life’s too 
exciting for marriage—and now I’m busy I never 
see a man of any sort except Anthony, my partner. 
Anthony’s an awful dear in many ways, but-” 

“I know, I know. Never without his regimental 
tie since Armistice Day,” sympathized his lordship, 
and paused. “I suppose,” he went on slowly, “I 
should be considered an impertinent old man if I 
asked whether Miss Mauricette Maxwell comes here 
for her dresses?” 



VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


197 


Vingie surveyed him thoughtfully. 

“Not at the moment, but she will. She wears one 
of my gowns in Dorian’s revue, and after she saw 
it, what there was of it, I haven’t much doubt. 
What makes you ask?” 

“It’s a long story,” declared his lordship dreamily. 
“I regret to say it points to the depravity of man 
and the duplicity of woman. All flesh is grass, my 
dear, but some grass is greener than other, and in 
this case the man ought to know better. Still, which 
of us who live in glass houses dares cast the first 
stone ? He’s a high official if he’s the man I think 
he is.” 

“Yes, dear, but what’s all the mystery?” 

“Ah!” exclaimed Lord Fordingbridge with the 
air of one laying down the ace of trumps, “y’see 
Mauricette Maxwell isn’t Mauricette Maxwell at all. 
That is, she is as far as she goes—you follow me, 
don’t you?—but the contents of the bottle doesn’t 
always correspond to the label on the outside. She’s 
not British or American, as she sounds. I don’t 
really know what she is. Her mother was French 
and her father —je ne sais quoi. Let’s presume he 
was a Pole, or a Magyar or a Russian. Anyway 
Mauricette’s linked up with Somebody’s Secret 


198 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


Service, and she’s caught our poor friend X in her 
toils. That is, I think it’s X. It might be Y or Z. 
If anybody writes a check for her account with you, 
I wish you’d let me see it before you pay it into 
your bank. I’d like to hush things up if possible. 
Terrible thing if it got in the papers. After all 
none of us’d like the skeleton in his cupboard 
washed in public, would he?” 

He rose to his feet with grave dignity and bent 
again over Vingie’s hand. He passed out to his 
phaeton, a fine survival of the old school, gathered 
up the reins, and clattered splendidly away. 

Vingie remained at her desk deep in thought. 

“I don’t like this idea of mixing up business with 
Foreign Office work,” she pondered. “On the other 
hand it may give me some kind of hold over Rupert. 
I consider Rupert has behaved very badly just be¬ 
cause I wouldn’t marry him. Who on earth would 
marry Rupert, or any other man, at the first time 
of asking unless she were Miss Glymp or some one 
like that ? He’s never written to me, or been to see 
me, or asked me to dine with him. I think a little 
cruelty would do him good.” 

The telephone bell tinkled faintly. Miss Mauri- 
cette Maxwell’s maid wished to make an appoint- 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


199 

ment for Miss Mauricette Maxwell to discuss the 
subject of frocks. Vingie put down the receiver 
with a little gasp. 

“Now, how much does George, or Rupert, or 
both of them know, and how do they find it out?" 
she demanded solemnly of space. 

Her brain began to weave the tortuous, involved 
plans peculiar to females, all seemingly ridiculous, 
yet very much to the point if only people knew. 

“I think I’ll take Anthony down to Wynwood in 
the car this week-end," she decided. “Rupert is 
sure to be there. It would seem appropriate for 
him to know Anthony. Rupert's too fond of im¬ 
agining nothing exists outside his own world." 

Though Anthony Brooks had not the faintest de¬ 
sire to visit Wynwood, being perfectly happy to 
drowse away the week-end at Mon Plaisir, his 
Surbiton home,—alternating perusal of the Sunday 
papers with a little clock-golf on the lawn, forti¬ 
fied by the Sunday luncheon of roast beef, two 
veg., trifle, and half a bottle of that excellent Bur¬ 
gundy he picked up from a man in the city who 
unfortunately went bankrupt,—yet Vingie had her 
way because clay can not presume to argue with the 
potter. 


200 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


She took him down personally in the little ten- 
horsepower “Wonderful” she had bought out of her 
profits. The limited space precluded much luggage, 
and Anthony wondered in misery whether he had 
sufficient changes of raiment for stately surround¬ 
ings. 

Vingie presented him to Sir Charles and poured 
tea for him on the sunlit terrace. The butler ter¬ 
rified him; he sat in gloom juggling drearily with 
a cup of tea and a piece of bread and butter. 

“The enterprises of commerce hold great fasci¬ 
nation for me,” declared Sir Charles, with his im¬ 
perishable charm. “Observe how beautiful woman 
lays the whole earth under tribute, from the silks 
and perfumes of the East to the furs of the Arctic.” 

“Mostly wood-fiber and pussy-cat now-a-days, sir. 
I’m afraid,” replied Anthony with ghastly mirth. 

“I rejoice, moreover, that my ward has enjoyed 
the benefit of your ripe experience in this undertak¬ 
ing of hers,” pursued Sir Charles blandly. “You 
have been the soul of good nature, Mr. Brooks. 
Believe me I am not ungrateful.” 

“Not at all. Pleasure I’m sure,” muttered the 
wretched guest, reddening to the edge of his ears. 

“Charles, darling,” interrupted Vingie, “surely 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


201 


Rupert is somewhere about? I haven’t seen a sign 
of him.” 

“Oh, he’ll be along presently. He got rather 
hot knocking the balls about on the tennis courts 
and I think he’s changing,” explained Sir Charles. 

Even as he spoke, a tall immaculate figure, with 
all the aloofness of a very superior god, stepped 
through the French window and advanced toward 
them. 

“Oh, hullo, Rupert!” Virginia began in a little 
bored drawl. “By the way, have you met my friend, 
Anthony Brooks?” 

“Ah! how do you do ?” said Rupert impersonally. 
“Delightful day for motoring down. I trust the 
car ran well, Virginia.” 

He seated himself apart, and glanced vaguely at 
Anthony Brooks rather as a man inspects the bacil¬ 
lus of a new disease, striving as it were to appear 
interested and failing entirely to conceal very nat¬ 
ural horror. 

“We’re making a great deal of money these days, 
Rupert,” Vingie went on. “I’m getting to be quite 
an heiress. Probably Charles has told you.” 

“No,” replied Rupert with terrible politeness. “I 
don’t think we discussed the matter. I should love 


202 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


to hear all about it, but Lacey absolutely insisted 
that I should dine with him and stay over to¬ 
morrow. He delivers his big speech on the Near 
East in the House next week and he wished to dis¬ 
cuss certain points with me. In fact I’ll have to 
run away almost at once. My kit is already in the 
car.” 

He rose and smiled like the moon shining upon 
the crests of the Himalayas. “Good-by!” he ex¬ 
claimed. “Good-by, Mr.—er—Brooks.” With a 
faint inclination of the head in Vingie’s direction 
he retired as he had come. Sir Charles gazed in 
rapture at the distant woods. 

“We have indeed reason to be grateful to our 
ancestors for their devoted efforts in afforestation, 

Mr. Brooks-” he began, while Vingie’s teeth 

met viciously in a macaroon biscuit. 

Very soon after dinner she retired to rest, alleg¬ 
ing fatigue. No one’s appearance at breakfast on 
Sunday coincided with that of Anthony, and Sir 
Charles proved to be his only companion at lunch¬ 
eon. As it transpired, he passed the day much 
as he would have done at his Surbiton home, 
but he remembers the Burgundy at dinner as some¬ 
thing to dwell upon, and Sir Charles’ port went 



VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


203 


straight to his heart. He recalls gratefully an ex¬ 
cellent cigar or two and has vague memories of a 
discussion on trout-fishing afterward. Vingie com¬ 
pelled him to leave very early on Monday morning 
in order to reach Breath Street by nine a.m. Never¬ 
theless he preserves a tender feeling for the aristoc¬ 
racy. They understand, he declares, the art of 
living, and devote much thought to that end. 

Now, even the weariest river winds somewhere 
safe to sea. 

On a day when the presence of bright sunshine 
coincided with the weekly cheap train to London 
from Great Booking (a place of ninety-three houses, 
not to be confused with Little Booking which 
boasts only twenty-seven) Ella Fairbody decided to 
avail herself of the railway company’s generosity. 
She was a person accustomed to make these gentle 
decisions from which, once made, she never de¬ 
parted. 

She put on her gray organdie frock with the 
cerise touches, which she had made herself aided 
by a paper pattern, because Ella was clever with her 
needle and there is no use throwing money away on 
these dressmakers, and the gray shoes and stockings 
and hat to match. (Nevertheless she took her um- 


204 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


brella because you never know in this climate.) 
She brushed her mid-brown hair rather carefully, 
and rubbed a powder puff over her face with a 
pleasant, slight feeling of wickedness. There was 
no need to add color because she had one of those 
wild-rose complexions, although going on for 
twenty-seven. She met Mrs. Hickman at the sta¬ 
tion, who, seeing Ella in her best dress, standing 
on the up platform in time for the eleven-thirty 
train which does not stop after Great Booking, said: 
“Are you going to London, Miss Fairbody?” and 
Ella smiled and said, “Yes,” and bridled a little as 
though confessing to something rather devilish. 

At two-thirty she passed through the door of 
14 Breath Street, Bond Street, paused, raised her 
head, and tilted it slightly to one side. Her eyes 
told her the place was altered; her instinct told her 
the alteration was for the worse. A faint perfume 
troubled her senses; the decorative scheme smote 
her as somehow unchaste. Miss Glymp, coming 
forward courageously instead of furtively, in a per¬ 
fect little frock, her hair perfectly arranged, of¬ 
fended Ella’s sense of righteousness. 

“I want to see Mr. Brooks. Is he in his room?” 
she asked in the voice she kept for servants. 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


205 


“Mr. Brooks is engaged with Miss Lauriston at 
the moment. If you will kindly take a seat I will 
inform you. What name may I say, please?” 

“Say, Miss Fairbody, his fiancee,” replied Ella 
coldly. 

Miss Glymp, internally convulsed by Ella’s gown, 
glided perfidiously to Anthony’s room. She found 
him in animated discussion with Vingie, who, ciga¬ 
rette in mouth, laid down her views on business 
policy. 

“Miss Fairbody wishes to see you, sir,” murmured 
Miss Glymp. 

A pale perspiration bedewed Anthony’s forehead. 
Although he had done no wrong, vague sickness 
afflicted his internal economy. Notwithstanding, 
he passed a care-worn hand over his brow and said: 

“Please bring her here.” 

Vingie raised shocked eyebrows. “But, An¬ 
thony-” she began. 

Anthony did not heed. Even as a condemned 
man on the morning of execution reviews all the 
delicate and desirable things of life he is about to 
leave, so Anthony Brooks said a mute farewell to 
the pleasant associations of the last six months; the 
charm and genius of Vingie, the business losses 



206 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


turned into a hundred per cent, net profit, the 
glimpses of a delightful secure world not his own. 

The door opened, and Ella came in, holding her 
umbrella across her body as one nurses a baby. 
“Anthony, dear!” she exclaimed, halted one pace 
from him, and held up her face in sure and certain 
hope. 

In the fulfilment of his duty he bent and kissed 
her. 

Vingie stood rooted to the carpet. She saw An¬ 
thony turn to her and heard him say: “This is Miss 
Fairbody, my fiancee.” There was that in his eyes 
which almost evoked pity from her, but not quite. 

She put out a slender hand, smiled, and murmured: 
“How do you do?” but her heart cried out for 
whips and thumb screws to be applied to Anthony. 
He should never have allowed the situation to occur. 
“I expect you’ll have all sorts of things to talk 
about,” she went on politely. “Perhaps you’ll both 
come and have tea in my room at four o’clock?” 
She passed out, an affecting figure, far too affecting 
in fact. As the door closed behind her, Ella put 
her head very slightly on one side. 

“Anthony-” she began. 

In her own room Vingie sat lonely, and reviewed 



VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


207 

the entire scheme of things with marked dis¬ 
taste. 

“It’s very curious,” she reflected, “but I s’spose 
human nature being what it is, I oughtn’t to be 
surprised. I haven’t the vaguest affection for 
Anthony and if he were to kiss me I should scream. 
Yet the fact that he’s engaged to that terrible young 
woman has taken away every scrap of interest I 
ever had in this job. P’r’aps it’s because of her 
dreadful mind. She probably thinks I want him 
for myself. Vingie, dear, your latest wild oat has 
run rather to seed I’m afraid. How on earth am 
I to get out of all this? Anyhow for sheer pride 
I simply must produce a man of my own.” 

A light yet firm knock fell on the door. It opened 
to reveal Ella Fairbody. She closed the door, 
smiled in saintly fashion, seated herself and folded 
her hands in her lap. She conveyed mutely that 
she was glad her clothes were what they were, in¬ 
stead of resembling Vingie’s. 

“Miss Lauriston,” she began, “I wish to be quite 
frank.” 

“If there is anything to be quite frank about, 
Miss Fairbody,” replied Vingie in her most silky 
voice, “that is undoubtedly the best course.” 


208 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


Ella Fairbody sighed. 

‘The world is a very difficult place,” she pro¬ 
ceeded. “I’ve been having a look round with An¬ 
thony, and I don’t quite like the tone of this estab¬ 
lishment now it’s altered. Those two mannequins 
for instance—of course they may be good girls but 
they seem dreadfully brazen. There used to be a 
Miss Buxton here—such a lady-like person. And 
that Miss Glymp has become a very pert little girl. 
The whole atmosphere here is quite changed; it’s 
—well, it strikes me as not quite nice.” 

“What is ‘nice’?” asked Vingie. 

Her visitor smiled even more icily. 

“I think you know what I mean. Any woman 
would. And I do feel that for a young man who’s 
engaged to one girl to be in quite such close asso¬ 
ciation with another as Anthony is with you isn’t 
quite—quite wise. You see, people are so unchari¬ 
table. I understand that he’s been to stay with 
your people and you motored him down in your 
car, and he has had dinner at your flat. That seems 
to me rather a mistake.” 

“My dear woman, how on earth should I know 
he was engaged to you ?” demanded the goaded Vin¬ 
gie. “I never heard of you till half an hour ago.” 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


209 


“Oh, of course in that case-” admitted Ella 

Fairbody, “it seems strange though that he didn’t 
tell you. Our love means a great deal to Anthony.” 
Her entire form shrieked dumbly the one word 
“liar!” 

Another knock fell on the door. There entered 
the cashier bearing a slip of pink paper. “Excuse 
me, Miss Lauriston,” she murmured, “but this is 
the check for Miss Maxwell’s account. Your in¬ 
structions were to bring it to you at once.” 

“Thank you,” said Vingie absently. She ex¬ 
amined the check saw that it bore the signature 
“Gerald Loxley, Capt. 91st Hussars” and leaped at 
once to a brilliant rearguard action. 

“Forgive me one moment,” she continued, picked 
up the telephone receiver and asked for the Foreign 
Office. “Miss Lauriston speaking. Give me Lord 
Fordingbridge, please. Is that Lord Fording- 
bridge ? Oh, George, the Maxwell check has come. 
I wish you’d send Rupert down at once to look at 
it. No, not made out in her name. Yes, a man. 
I particularly want Rupert. Send him in a car, will 
you—it’s rather urgent. Thank you ever so. Good- 
by.” 

Ella Fairbody, whose mind had never worked at 



210 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


such a dizzy speed as Vingie’s, felt more than ever 
convinced of her hostess’ iniquity. Vingie turned 
to her with cruel calm. 

“In the circumstances, of course, I shall withdraw 
from this concern,” she announced. “It seems a 
pity to take capital out of the business just when it’s 
booming, but that naturally is no affair of mine. 
Perhaps you can spare Mr. Brooks for half an hour 
to arrange the details? That’s very kind of you, 
Miss Fairbody. Would you mind telling him as 
you go out?” 

He entered slowly, and for a second she pitied 
him even as on that far-off day at the Savoy when 
he had seemed so young and distraught. But hell 
holds no fury like a woman scorned. Vingie 
turned on him the two glinting bits of green-gray 
ice that were her eyes and said: 

'‘You might really have told me you were en¬ 
gaged, Anthony. I dislike being accused of baby- 
snatching by peculiar young women.” 

Like a cornered rat he burst out in despairing 
fury: 

“What about you? How do I know whether 
you’re engaged or not? Why should I take all the 
blame?” 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


211 


“My poor thing,” she answered mildly, “don’t 
let’s quarrel just as we’re about to part. Heaven 
knows you’ve enough trouble on your hands. What 
on earth made you get engaged to such a very— 
shall I say conventional?—person?” 

“You ought to know. You told me once any 
woman could do anything she liked with me. I’m 
damned if I can tell you why!” groaned the stricken 
man before her. 

“Mr. Rupert Frack to see you, moddom,” an¬ 
nounced Miss Glymp. 

When Anthony had staggered forth Rupert stood 
before Vingie for a moment with all his soul in 
his eyes. She sat with her elbows on the desk, her 
beautiful head drooped, and she played absently with 
Miss Maxwell’s check. As he tried vainly to harden 
his heart she glanced up reproachfully and said: 

“Why don’t you stop being such a brute to me?” 

To this there is no more answer than to the classic 
question: “Why don’t you give up beating your 
wife?” 

He commenced to flounder in the morass churned 
up by his conflicting emotions. 

“If only you’d chuck all this-” he exclaimed. 

She flung out her hands, relinquishing the check. 



212 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


“All this is giving up me. My partner’s fiancee 
comes and accuses me of man-stealing, I’m abused 
and humiliated, and still, Rupert, I’ve played the 
game to the end, and done what I undertook to do 
for George Fordingbridge and you. Here’s the 
Maxwell woman’s check. It’s signed by a Captain 
Gerald Loxley. Now I s’pose you’ll want to run 
off and arrest him and leave me to fight a lone hand 
all by myself. Shall I ring and have a taxi called 
for you?” 

“Captain Loxley? That clears us completely. 
We can now take up the matter with the War Of¬ 
fice!” announced Rupert triumphantly. Then his 
proud look humbled. “My dear Virginia, you’ve 
been an absolute brick. Your unselfishness in the 
midst of your own troubles moves me deeply. Of 
course I was mad to think you would marry me; 
I’m not half good enough for you. I should like 
to see the man who is. If only you’ll forgive me 
and let me help you whenever I may, in however 
humble a capacity-” 

Vingie rose from her chair. A faint glow of 
victory suffused her oval cheek. She hummed 
lightly the latest fox-trot. “If you will be kind 
enough to take me out of this hell!” she requested. 



VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


213 


He stood in admiration while she pulled on the 
smartest little hat in London. He admired the ador¬ 
ableness of her hands as she coaxed on gloves. 
They went out side by side, a patrician pair, paus¬ 
ing only at Anthony’s room. Rupert held the door 
and followed Vingie into the last arena of her busi¬ 
ness life. 

Ella Fairbody sat placidly in the visitor’s arm¬ 
chair; Anthony stood in gloom before the fireplace. 
Ella Fairbody gasped almost audibly to behold 
Vingie garbed for departure, attended by a most 
desirable young man the sheen of whose silk hat, 
the cut of whose morning clothes made Anthony 
in his business suit resemble a mouse in the pres¬ 
ence of lions. 

“Anthony,” said Vingie in her clear voice, “I’m 
going. Your solicitors can settle up the details with 
mine. This has been a peculiarly odious day, for 
which we have to thank Miss Fairbody alone. 
Good-by! Please believe I don’t bear you the small¬ 
est ill-will.” 

She held out a hand in farewell. Ella knew that 
for the moment she herself did not exist. She 
made a vow that Anthony should expiate this mo¬ 
ment all down the merciless years. 


214 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


“Rupert, darling,” cooed Vingie as his car bore 
them away, “be an angel and dine with me at the 
flat to-night. To-morrow I shall give it up and 
return to my poor Charles. I don’t suppose the 
dear lamb has had a happy moment since I went 
away.” 

“I should love to if you’ll let me,” answered 
Rupert, flinging his traditions to the winds. 

In the rich calm of Wynwood’s drawing-room, 
Vingie sipped coffee like a cat licking cream, and 
dwelt upon Sir Charles with maternal eyes. 

“You don’t know how delightful it is to share 
your roof again, Charles,” she said peacefully. “I 
shall never find any one like you as a husband. 
You’ve spoiled the rest of mankind for me from 
everlasting to everlasting. I begin to understand 
why you never married. All the other women in 
the world would have scratched her eyes out. The 
risk was too great, even to possess you.” 

“I confess I never thought of it in that way be¬ 
fore, but perhaps you are right,” responded Sir 
Charles. 

“I’ve come back financially restored and spirit¬ 
ually bankrupt, darling.” 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


215 


“It is impossible to be at once spiritually and fi¬ 
nancially sound. That is the real reason why I have 
never possessed any pecuniary surplus, my dear 
Virginia.” 

The door opened to admit Lord Fordingbridge. 

“I’ve dealt with those accursed dispatches at last. 
They are part of the heavy price one pays for 
engaging in public life. You look exceptionally 
beautiful to-night, Virginia, my child,” he said 
benignly. 

She smiled up at him in great content. 

“Tell me how that affair of Mauricette’s check 
ended, George. It all seems part of a bad dream, 
but I’d like to know.” 

Lord Fordingbridge creased his rubicund counte¬ 
nance into a reminiscent smile. 

“Ah!” he said, “I’m afraid that turned out to 
be a case of dog eating dog. Y’see, we had our 
suspicions of the lady and kept our eyes open, but 
the War Office had theirs too. So what do they 
do but tell off a good-looking cavalryman to make 
the running with her and see if she started asking 
awkward questions about how many bows and 
arrows we had in reserve and all that kind of thing. 

“Well, of course I couldn’t know that, could I, 


2l6 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


so when you got Captain Who-is-its check, I tipped 
it off to the Adjutant General, and as Captain 
What’s-his-name was acting under instructions, the 
A. G. became quite tart about it. I’m afraid poor 
Rupert had a bad quarter of an hour with him.” 

“So you sent Rupert, and the Adjutant General 
ticked him off,” mused Vingie. She rose grace¬ 
fully to her feet, and extended a hand to Sir 
Charles. 

“I think for the only time in your life you’re 
wrong, Charles,” she ended. “At the moment I am 
in truth spiritually and financially sound. Night- 
night, you dear things!” 


X 


HARLES, darling,” pleaded Vingie, “how 



did you ever come to be possessed of a 
nephew like Rupert?” 

Sir Charles beamed on her with courteous atten¬ 
tion. 

“My sister Ann married Arthur Frack, and they 
were blessed with a son,” he explained. “I always 
suspected Arthur—Heaven rest his soul—of some 
obscure failing. His merits were considerable, and 
yet he fell just short of distinction. Successively 
Governor of the Leeward Islands and the Wind¬ 
ward Islands, beyond a K. C. B. and a pension he 
achieved little. Now Rupert will go far. He com¬ 
bines his father’s reverence for tradition and his 
mother’s extreme perseverance.” 

Vingie, toying with after-dinner coffee and ciga¬ 
rette in the small Park Street drawing-room, pre¬ 
senting quite consciously a very distracting figure, 
turned pensive eyes on the trim figure of her guard¬ 
ian now lost in a reverie of his spacious bachelor 
past. 


217 


2 l8 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


At last, with the lithe motion of a siren she rose, 
and composed her slight loveliness gently upon his 
knee. 

“Nice thing!” she crooned. “I adore unworthy 
men. They’re so broad-minded and adequate and 
sympathetic. Rupert’s abominably worthy. Charles, 
I’m going to confess to you, and instead of the 
whipping I deserve you shall give me the most de¬ 
licious advice. I’m very hard up again, dreadfully 
in debt, a wee piece bored, and I know a delightful 
man who might help me to a very pleasant and 
profitable adventure. You don’t feel it would be 
wrong of me, do you, Charles?” 

“My dear Virginia,” replied Sir Charles feebly, 
“there is only one course for a girl to pursue when 
in doubt. She should say to herself: What would 
the late Queen Victoria have done in my place?’ 
It is an infallible recipe.” 

Vingie took his face between her hands, kissed 
him lightly on the brow, rose, sketched one or two 
steps of a fox-trot, and came to rest. 

“I mean Mr. Berriman,” she explained, “the 
news editor of the Daily Tale . If I go and see him 
in a perfectly tailored brown suit, with brown shoes 
and beige silk stockings, I think he’ll give me a job 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


219 


on his paper. By the way, who exactly was Queen 
Victoria? I seem to have heard the name.” 

The door opened quietly to admit Rupert, radi¬ 
antly attired in the height of fashion. His eyes 
mooned over Vingie in forlorn admiration. 

“You promised,” he explained, “that I might 
take you to the Plinlimmons’ dance. Rogers has 
the car at the door.” 

Vingie gazed at him fixedly. 

“You are quite sure it is a dance, and not a 
funeral ? Your clothes are the clothes of a roisterer, 
but your manner is that of a respectable under¬ 
taker,” she said patiently. “Nevertheless, I will 
get my cloak.” 

When she had gone Rupert looked at Sir Charles, 
and Sir Charles looked at Rupert. A dreadful sigh 
tore the younger man’s bosom. Sir Charles shook 
his head gravely. 

“The poet sang of woman: ‘When pain and an¬ 
guish wring the brow, a veritable angel thou,’ ” 
he observed. “Either woman has altered, or the 
statement was inaccurate, for you exhibit as much 
pain and anguish as any two ordinary hospitals, 
and it avails you nothing with Virgina. My dear 
Rupert, you have just time for a whisky-and-soda 


220 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


if you act quickly. It is the best advice I can offer 
on the spur of the moment.” 

Newspaper men being hardened to shocks, the 
possessors of steel nerves, and totally unsentimental, 
Mr. Berriman merely raised his eyebrows when 
they announced the arrival of the Honorable Vir¬ 
ginia Lauriston. He instructed them to show her 
up and went on balancing the scales of justice be¬ 
tween a disturbance in the Sandjak of Novibazar 
and a thrilling divorce in aristocratic circles. He 
rose courteously when there appeared in his door¬ 
way a slim vision in a brown suit, her slender ankles 
veiled in beige silk, her feet encased in bench-made 
mahogany shoes, her hat raked celestially over her 
fair hair. 

“Perfectly charming of you to see me,” declared 
Vingie in clear tones. “I suspect you’re frightfully 
busy.” 

She gave him a little gloved paw, sat down on a 
quite unworthy chair, and waited. Mr. Berriman 
reflected absently how those shirts of thick pajama 
silk set off an adorable throat if skilfully cut with 
a V shaped opening. 

“Not at all,” he replied, “you’re always con- 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


221 


siderate. What’s the news—another of your amaz¬ 
ing ideas?” 

Vingie gazed at him with blinding directness. 

“I doubt if you’ll call it a brain-wave when I 
tell you. I want a job on your paper, Mr. Berri- 
man, please.” 

(Curious how attractive a name sounds if spoken 
with a faint slurring of the r’s by an extremely 
pretty girl.) 

“What sort of a job?” queried Mr. Berriman 
with a faint sigh for his wasted life, a wife and 
three children in Brixton, the unsophisticated cut of 
his tweed suit, and a few hundred other things. 

“Any job that brings me a little money and ex¬ 
citement, I’m broke and I’m bored. Wouldn’t I 
be rather a novelty on your staff?” 

“Can you write?” temporized Mr. Berriman like 
a drowning man clutching at straws. 

“Men have told me I write awfully good letters. 
I’m quite decently educated, and I can ride and 
drive a car, and I’m not scared of things. And of 
course, I know everybody.” 

Mr. Berriman stared out of the window for 
safety. 

“I’ll give you a chance at five pounds a week,” 


222 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


he said at last, as harshly as possible. “Report at 
ten-thirty to-morrow morning and ask for Mr. 
Jennings.” 

Vingie surveyed him sadly. 

“My dear, it would cost me more than that for 
lunches and taxis and things,” she explained. “Be¬ 
sides I should need a lot of new clothes. Mine 
aren’t suitable for a working girl. Do you know 
the price of a suit like this—a perfectly plain little 
suit, with just a silk lining to the coat and a few 
buttons and button-holes?” 

“Well, let’s say ten pounds, and a month on 
trial,” amended Mr. Berriman, feeling like a man 
caught putting a foreign coin in a church collection. 

“Is that absolutely all my exclusive information 
would be worth?” implored his visitor piteously. 
“I should have thought for the society column alone 
—besides, I’ve got the Foreign Office at my finger¬ 
tips. I did want so much to be on your paper, Mr. 
Berriman, because we’re friends, and you’ve been 
nice to me. But honestly I couldn’t afford it. I 
shall have to try the Morning Globe. Thank you 
awfully for wasting so much time on me.” 

She stood up to take farewell. Her brown suit 
fell in the straightest of straight lines. Mr. Berri- 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


223 


man positively could not resist wondering what that 
gently curving mouth would be like to kiss, though 
it was none of his business. Besides, the mention 
of the Morning Globe irritated him. It did very 
well to wrap up fish in, but as a newspaper he de¬ 
spised it. 

“Then, subject to confirmation by my proprietor, 
fifteen pounds a week," he said at last. “Remem¬ 
ber, ten-thirty to-morrow and ask for Mr, Jennings. 
Good morning, Miss Lauriston. I hope—er—we 
shall find mutual pleasure in—er—our professional 
relationship." 

He smiled mechanically, and took again her of¬ 
fered hand. Somebody someday would marry this 
divine slip of a thing. He remembered that his 
bank balance totaled fifty pounds, and that his life 
insurance premium fell due in a fortnight. Prob¬ 
ably the new recruit owed hundreds of pounds with¬ 
out a second thought. Somehow life seemed hardly 
fair—not that he grudged her one grain of powder 
for her enchanting face. 

Vingie tap-tapped gracefully along endless corri¬ 
dors to the lift. At least six men turned their 
heads automatically to gaze after her retreating 
form. She passed the driven carcass of Miss Allin, 


224 VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 

a plain forty-three who wrote paragraphs begin¬ 
ning: 

“ 'Straordinary how we girls thrive on the rush 
from lunch to dinner and from dinner to dance, and 
go tearing in our latest frocklets from Ascot to 
Cowes and from Cowes north after the wee brown 
grouse. As Lady Fitz-Battleaxe said to me last 
night at Claridges- ” 

She issued from the lift on the ground floor and 
the chief commissionaire, even an ex-Regimental- 
Sergeant-Major, tucked her with pride into her 
little ten horsepower Wonderful car, winking in 
pale gray and silver. Over luncheon she told Sir 
Charles, with simple pride, the history of the 
morning’s conquest. He shook his head gravely, 
motioning away a second helping of the entree. 

“No good will come of it, my dear Virginia. 
The eagle can not mate with the sparrow, and one 
does not place the thoroughbred in the shafts of a 
cab. I suppose some people must necessarily pro¬ 
vide untruths flavored to suit the taste of the vul¬ 
gar, but for you it seems a deplorable occupation. 
However, we all have to eat a peck of dirt before 
we die, and if you prefer to take yours at one meal 
I suppose you know best.” 



VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


225 


“Be quiet, Charles!” she said reprovingly. “First 
there was William Caxton, then Shakespeare, and 
now little Vingie. I wonder if Mr. Jennings is 
youngish and rather good-looking? Even I couldn’t 
do much with some one fifty years old who has a 
beard.” 

Mr. Albert Bagford, sitting in his immense room 
furnished after the Jacobean style, set his square 
jaw, poised his five feet seven of sinewy dynamite 
as if he could leap from his chair, and hewed Mr. 
Berriman in metaphorical pieces. 

“Nobody would think I owned this paper!” he 
stormed. “Nobody would think I rose from nothing 
to the position of a millionaire in order to give the 
public news as news has never been given to the 
public before. Anybody would think you owned 
it, and could slop out miserable pap in your own 
knock-kneed style till the cows come home. I s’pose 
this girl has put it across you—as if sentiment and 
newspaper work had anything in common. Other¬ 
wise how could this sort of tripe get set up and 
proved?” 

He picked up a proof of an article from Vingie’s 
pen, cleared his throat, and read: 


226 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


“Lady Avis Shillinghoe is engaged to Major 
Cordigan, M.C., 19th Hussars. This represents the 
crowning achievement of a long struggle. She was 
always a wretched little funk as a girl, and a per¬ 
fect laughing-stock in the hunting field. We can 
only suppose the major worships the helpless type 
of female. I saw her dining at the Ritz the other 
day in one of those insipid gowns that freeze the 
blood of any woman with blood to freeze. She has 
written a number of mawkish poems that lack both 
style and manner. Our congratulations to the happy 
pair.” 

“Well,” retorted Mr. Berriman, “perhaps you’d 
like to see her yourself. I can’t do anything. She 
has an extraordinary way with her. Jennings is 
a pretty tough nut, but he feeds out of her hand. 
The worst of it is that social stuff of hers brings 
in hundreds and hundreds of letters. It’s so popu¬ 
lar I should be prepared to chance a libel action or 
two.” 

“Nobody asked for your opinion, Berriman. 
Send this woman to me, and notice the difference 
when I’ve finished with her. That’s all.” 

Mr. Berriman went out wrapping what remained 
of philosophy about his soul. He sought Vingie 
in the reporters’ room. She sat writing industri¬ 
ously and half a dozen young men watched her 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


227 

covertly as if no girl had ever written before, poised 
ready to dash forward in her service. 

“The chief wants you, Miss Lauriston,” said 
Mr. Berriman sorrowfully; Vingie looked up with 
distaste. 

“What a perfect nuisance!” she retorted. “I’m 
just in the middle of the Fitzroy-Davenport wed¬ 
ding. However, p’r’aps I’d better see him.” 

She got up, settled the coat of her brown suit and 
sauntered out. The half dozen young men held 
their breath, raised their eyebrows, and stared 
speechlessly at Mr. Berriman. Mr. Berriman stared 
back. 

“Evidently a public holiday,” he observed acidly, 
and went away, leaving the door open. 

Vingie entered the room of Mr. Bagford without 
knocking. Its vastness left her unmoved, for she 
was accustomed to vast rooms. She saw a middle- 
aged man seated at an enormous writing table. He 
never raised his bent head. He went on writing. 
A grandfather clock ticked solemnly; not another 
sound broke the silence. In this fashion Mr. Bag- 
ford had subdued scores of men, turning their 
bowels to water. Vingie merely thought him a trifle 
ill-bred. She had never known fear in her life. 


228 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


She wandered across to the vast writing table, 
and in the absence of a chair seated herself lightly 
on the table itself, four or five feet from the ab¬ 
sorbed proprietor. She felt in the side pocket of 
her coat, produced a thin gold cigarette-case, chose 
a cigarette, lighted it, smoked reflectively, removed 
the cigarette, and said with a great effort of polite¬ 
ness: 

“Well, Mr. Bagford, what's the news?" 

Mr. Bagford sat up as if some one had struck 
him. He saw a slim brown figure seated on his 
table smoking a cigarette. The figure belonged to a 
girl, thus robbing him of certain expressions ade¬ 
quate to the occasion. Moreover the girl showed no 
sign of fear, and being accustomed to be feared the 
fact unnerved him. He picked up the offending 
proof, glared at her in baffled fury and barked: 

“Did you write this ?" 

Vingie removed the cigarette from between her 
lips. 

“Mm!" she said. 

“Are you aware," inquired Mr. Bagford dread¬ 
fully, “that it is probably libelous and certainly in 
bad taste?" 

Vingie smiled at him very sweetly. 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


229 


“My dear,” she explained, “you don’t know Avis 
Shillinghoe as well as I do. She’d sell her soul for 
a paragraph of any sort. As a matter of fact I 
always trust the sub-editors to save me from libel. 
It’s a pity to cramp one’s style. By the time they’ve 
done with it there’ll be precious little style left. If 
I started by suppressing myself there wouldn’t be 
anything at all.” 

“Good God!” exclaimed Mr. Bagford, smitten to 
the heart. 

“Well,” objected his lovely employee, “what do 
we have sub-editors for?” 

“I wonder,” said Mr. Bagford, “exactly how you 
persuaded Berriman to engage you.” Vingie slid 
gracefully from the table and stood looking at 
him. 

“I have never,” she responded slowly, “found it 
difficult to persuade any man who had ordinary de¬ 
cent instincts to do anything I wanted. He was 
perfectly right to get an expert for the society col¬ 
umn. Before I did it the thing was ridiculous to 
any one who knew what society’s like. You, of 
course, are the rudest person I ever met. Besides, 
you’re quite wrong.” 

If she had been a man Mr. Bagford would have 


230 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


dismissed him; if she had been his wife or his 
daughter, supposing he had had a wife or daughter, 
he would have stormed at her. As things were he 
smiled tolerantly and said with a spacious air: 

“Better lunch with me and we’ll come to some 
understanding.” 

The brown boy-girl figure stiffened. 

“Thank you. I am engaged for lunch.” 

“Well, then, to-morrow,” amended Mr. Bagford. 

“To-morrow also I’m engaged.” 

“Well, when aren’t you engaged?” 

“Never, as far as you’re concerned,” explained 
Vingie. “I particularly dislike invitations from 
men I don’t know.” 

No one rises from nothing to the possession of a 
million without understanding human nature. Mr. 
Bagford’s fighting face softened. He called back 
in her the lovely April of his prime when he would 
walk out of a well-paid job into the gutter rather 
than go back on his principles. He rose and held 
out a square hand. 

“I beg your pardon. You’re right and I’m wrong 
over the lunch, and I’m right and you’re wrong over 
the paragraph,” he said. “Won’t you forgive me 
and change your mind ?” 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


231 


A little enigmatic smile curled the lips of Vingie. 

“In that case I’m delighted. Perhaps at one 
o’clock. Thanks ever so much.’ , 

It was the other people at the Carlton who shook 
Mr. Bagford’s confidence. When Vingie arrived 
in his vast room at twelve fifty-nine, the deference 
of his secretaries bolstered that feeling of greatness 
absolutely essential if a man is ever to do great 
things. The disciplined respect of the commis¬ 
sionaire and chauffeur, the opulent calm of his car 
all ministered to the idea that he was giving a pretty, 
mildly-gifted, yet otherwise unremarkable girl, a 
treat. 

Now at the Carlton they were polite to Mr. Bag- 
ford, but they worshiped Vingie. The entire staff 
treated her as one beloved hopelessly yet unswerv¬ 
ingly. This fashion communicated itself to the 
other guests. In particular, Lord Fordingbridge 
abandoned altogether Miss Letitia Borrodaile of the 
Omnibus Theater to whom he was purveying lunch¬ 
eon, and bent reverently over Vingie’s hand. 

“My dear, you look perfect—perfect!” he rum¬ 
bled. “Charles tells me you’re a prop and mainstay 
of some terrible newspaper. I never read them my¬ 
self, and it seems impossible to connect you with 


232 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


anything so depraved, but if any one can lift them 
out of the mire, you will achieve that miracle.” 

Presently Mr. Bagford sat facing all that loveli¬ 
ness which was Vingie, across her favorite table. 
He deferred gracefully to her choice of food, ac¬ 
quiesced when she refused wine, and proceeded to 
mold her to his purpose as he had molded everything 
as long as he could remember. 

“How,” he inquired politely, “does the Daily 
Tale strike you?” 

Vingie propped her chin on her hands and gazed 
into his eyes. 

“Lifeless—uninspired—commonplace,” she an¬ 
swered sadly. “Hardly any of it interests a woman. 
All we want is emotional adventure, and all you give 
us is politics and wars. It’s the way you handle 
everything. You make even a great love-story seem 
dreary and hackneyed. I s’pose men are a dull lot. 
They cease to be thrilled after they’ve married and 
women go on being thrilled till they die.” 

“I’m not married,” said Mr. Bagford hastily. 

“Mentally you must have been born married,” 
retorted Vingie. “The Isaacs-Ferguson divorce 
case made Antony and Cleopatra look like a village 
Darby and Joan, but when I tried to read it in the 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


233 


Daily Tale I nearly fell asleep. It’s lack of soul, 
my dear Mr. Bagford. You don’t feel; you simply 
grind out all the old sentiments we’re supposed to 
possess and don’t.” 

'This is very serious,” declared her host, his 
fighting jaw set doggedly. T never realized it be¬ 
fore. Something must be done.” 

“I loathe anything second-rate,” went on Vingie 
with an adorable sneer. "I’d rather die than be 
mixed up with a failure. I doubt if I can stand your 
paper very long. You may have a circulation, but 
it isn’t because you’ve any merit. It’s just that 
other people are a shade worse—if possible.” 

"What would you suggest ?” asked Mr. Bagford, 
who felt himself sagging everywhere. Vingie 
shrugged her shoulders. 

"Are you asking me to help, or are you ordering 
me about?” she demanded. 

"I’m asking you to help, if you’ll be charitable 
enough,” said Mr. Bagford humbly. 

With an inscrutable light in her eyes she offered 
him one of her very own cigarettes. "We’ll put this 
paper right together,” she murmured dreamily. 
"I’ll work my fingers to the bone if you really want 
me to help.” 


234 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


Mr. Berriman, entering the vast room of Mr. Bag- 
ford, his lord, closed the door quietly, paused and 
stood lost in contemplation. At the Jacobean writ¬ 
ing table sat two figures, a girl in a tan suit, molded 
to her lissom figure, and a square-set man with a 
fighting jaw. The fair head and the iron-gray bent 
very close together. 

“Well,” came in Vingie’s clear tones, “I think 
we’ve got the woman’s side pretty well arranged for 
to-morrow’s issue. There’s My Case against Di¬ 
vorce, by the Bishop of Banff, and that Husbands 
for All correspondence, and an article entitled Dozvn 
with Men, by Bathsheba Stoat, the feminist crea¬ 
ture. She ought to be boiled in oil, but we must try 
to please every one.” 

Mr. Bagford frowned. 

“It seems to me rather one-sided. How about 
dropping the bishop, and having something about, 
say, The Art of Fascination, by a popular actress?” 

Mr. Berriman coughed. Mr. Bagford glanced up 
in annoyance. Vingie, also glancing, flicked one 
eyelid very faintly. 

“Excuse my interrupting,” began Mr. Berriman, 
“but this has just come in over the telephone. The 
Foreign Minister is taking a firm stand on the Jugo- 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


235 


Czechian question. He is prepared to support the 
Slogo-Moravians’ claim to the province of Tiszch. 
The First Division has received orders to mobilize, 
and the Mediterranean Fleet is in readiness to sail 
at a moment’s notice. There is a panic in Jugo- 
Czechian financial circles, and the lo has fallen to 
ten thousand to the pound sterling. That, of course, 
equals forty to a penny, or two thousand to the 
dollar.” 

"Well, don’t bother me about it,” snapped Mr. 
Bagford. "You know you’ve got standing orders to 
oppose the Foreign Minister whatever he does. If 
he had supported the Jugo-Czechians against the 
Slogo-Moravians I should oppose him just the same. 
After all, somebody has to oppose the government. 
Get Brice to do a leader about wasting the tax¬ 
payers’ money on wildcat foreign adventures, and 
go away.” 

Mr. Berriman sighed, and departed. As the door 
clicked Mr. Bagford put down his pencil, leaned 
back in his chair and said: 

"Virginia, I love you, will you marry me?” 

"My dear Mr. Bagford,” responded Vingie, who 
had often faced this situation, "it’s exceedingly kind 
of you to ask me, but why should I marry you or 


236 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


any one else for that matter? I’m twenty-one and 
perfectly independent. How would you have liked 
to be married at my age ?” 

“That’s altogether different. You’re a girl and 
I’m a man,” explained Mr. Bagford rather unneces¬ 
sarily. “You need some one to love and protect 
you, to provide you with a home—children—all 
that life means to a woman. You weren’t made for 
the drudgery and hustle of a newspaper. You were 
intended to reign, a queen, in the house of the man 
you love.” / 

“I love Charles better than any man on earth, and 
I’ve reigned a queen in his house ever since I was 
twelve. It’s perfectly respectable; I’m talking about 
Sir Charles Gillespie, my guardian. I’m afraid I 
don’t love you at all, and apart from love, you’ve 
nothing to offer me that darling Charles hasn’t pro¬ 
vided over and over again.” 

“I’d do anything in the world for you, Virginia,” 
said Mr. Bagford rather helplessly for a man in his 
position. 

“Well, then, suppose you stop persecuting Lord 
Fordingbridge, the Foreign Minister? He’s my 
greatest pal, next to Charles—an absolute angel. 
Besides, he can’t be wrong, because he never does 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


237 

anything without consulting Charles, and Charles 
knows everything.” 

“Will you consent to our engagement if I do?” 
came like a flash from her lover. 

Vingie leaned back in her chair, hands clasped 
behind her head. “That depends how tight a comer 
Lord Fordingbridge is in. Still it sounds quite bad 
enough. Would you really care to be engaged to 
me simply so that I can save an old friend some 
embarrassment. Do you call that fair, Mr. Bag- 
ford?” 

The proprietor of the Daily Tale summed up 
briefly the perfect lines of her bent-back figure. 

“All’s fair in love and war,” he answered grimly. 

“Well, as long as there’s no kissing and that sort 
of thing till I give you permission, I agree,” said 
Vingie, so quietly that he started in his chair. “Will 
you please countermand Mr. Berriman’s instruc¬ 
tions at once?” 

“Of course I will,” exclaimed Mr. Bagford, with 
a somewhat uncalled-for chuckle, and pressed firmly 
an electric bell. . . . 

Through that beautiful friendship which existed 
between Vingie and Sir Charles it was her custom to 
confess her triumphs and peccadilloes even as a 


238 VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 

child confesses at its mother’s knee. Therefore, 
after dinner, since it chanced they were alone, she 
sat inscrutably among sofa cushions and said in her 
most innocent manner: 

“Charles, would you be surprised if I were to tell 
you I’m engaged ?” 

“Normally,” replied Sir Charles, “I should not. 
Nevertheless, since an engagement implies marriage 
and your views on marriage are unsympathetic, I 
should consider you a little inconsistent. But then, 
my dear Virginia, what woman is ever anything 
else?” 

“He is Mr. Bagford, the proprietor of the Daily 
Tale . He’s about fifty, and he’s worth at least a 
million,” went on Vingie. 

“Good God!” exclaimed Sir Charles with emo¬ 
tion. “I must apologize for the expression, but the 
idea of your being linked with some nameless jour¬ 
nalist is really intolerable. Our world has fallen on 
evil days, yet while there is still a Fortinbras, a 
Giffard, a Plinlimmon, or a Rupert Frack, what 
have I done that you should become Mrs. Bagford, 
Mrs. Bagford! Did you ever hear such a word! 
The sound of it is positively ear-tearing.” 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


239 


“Well,” replied Vingie with pious humility, “you 
always told me to marry some one who would put 
me ahead of all the other girls in my set—a coming 
man. Rupert may get a peerage, but Mr. Bagford 
will have one. Besides I did it to help George Ford- 
ingbridge. Mr. Bagford consented not to oppose 
George’s foreign policy if I’d be engaged.” 

A rigid expression overwhelmed Sir Charles’ 
aristocratic face. He passed a hand across his brow 
to hide an agony of mind. 

“Quis tantum de te licuit!” he murmured, for he 
came of a generation familiar with the classics. 
“Who has had his will of you so far, my poor Vir¬ 
ginia! So beautiful a sacrifice in so ironic a cause! 
I beg your pardon. My mind is a little astray. Of 
course, if you are happy, I congratulate you. But 
Bagford—Bagford! It will be written on my heart, 
like Calais on the heart of the late Queen 
Mary.” 

“Don’t you think,” asked Vingie with a little sigh, 
“that we really ought to ask him down to Wynwood 
for the week-end? Of course, the engagement isn’t 
actually announced, but I’d like you to meet him. 
He’s rather like a lion, Charles, dear. When he 


240 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


roars every one trembles from the editor down to 
the office boy.” 

“I will write to him this evening,” agreed Sir 
Charles heavily. “Fordingbridge and Rupert are 
to be there as well. It will prove a sad holiday for 
Rupert—a faithful heart if ever there was one!” 


XI 


A T Wynwood, in the deep of the country, Mr. 

Bagford’s material soul went off, half-sobbing, 
half-uplifted, on a romantic pilgrimage. His own 
machine-like bachelor flat in Half Moon Street, his 
pseudo-ancient country cottage near the fashion¬ 
able golf-links, afforded him nothing like this. Also, 
as nearly as he could manage it, he was quite 
definitely in love. 

Vingie, with unconscious feminine play-acting, 
dramatized a very sweet and darling conception of 
an engaged girl. She led him prettily among all the 
paths and scenes where she had frivoled as a child. 
She-wandered bareheaded through the sunshine, lay¬ 
ing, now and then, appealing fingers on his sleeve, 
showing him the stables, the rose-garden, the or¬ 
chards of the home farm, the peaceful sheep and 
cattle. She staged a perfect idyl for this hard¬ 
bitten, commercial man; she played golf simply and 
naturally, she challenged him on the tennis court. 
For dinner she added a touch of ceremony, and 
came down the great staircase to him with some 


241 


242 VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 

remote touch of her storied ancestors, very fair and 
stately. 

She made herself seem utterly pure and virginal, 
while he contrasted himself, stained with the mire of 
conflict. Behind them hovered a bemused back¬ 
ground of Sir Charles, Lord Fordingbridge and 
Rupert. 

Nevertheless, when Vingie had passed bedward 
to her girlish dreams a boundless change came over 
the scene. Sir Charles glanced absently at his 
watch. 

“Shall we,” he suggested, “take a final whisky- 
and-soda in the library?” 

“An excellent idea, Charles,” declared Lord 
Fordipgbridge blandly. “I always say there’s 
nothing like a night-cup, especially at our age. 
Rupert, of course, couldn’t stay awake if he tried, 
could you, my dear fellow?” 

They grouped restfully in four stalwart arm¬ 
chairs. Mr. Bagford, teeth clamped on his cigar, 
wondered why the love of a young girl could make 
him so regret many enjoyable episodes in his check¬ 
ered past. The calm voice of Sir Charles broke 
gently on the silence. 

“Virginia tells me,” he began, “that you have 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


243 


decided to support our foreign policy in Jugo- 
Czechia. I imagine she is making a mistake, but 
one would like to be reassured.” 

“Virginia is quite right. I gave her my word to 
support it. That was a condition of the engage¬ 
ment.” 

“But my dear Mr. Bagford,” rumbled Lord 
Fordingbridge, “pardon my remindin’ you that in 
return for certain facilities I gave your correspond¬ 
ents in various parts of the world you undertook 
always to oppose my policy in every particular. 
Y’see, you’ve put me in a very distressin’ position. 
We went a good deal further in this Jugo-Czechian 
matter than we really wanted to go. Afterward, in 
response to the clamor of the press we proposed to 
modify our demands. Unfortunately, my dear 
fellow, you haven’t even squeaked, let alone clam¬ 
ored. The press is unanimously in our favor. I 
haven’t been so distressed since the outbreak of the 
Franco-German War in 1871.” 

“Excuse me, sir,” besought Rupert. “War was 
declared between France and Germany on October 
the sixth, 1870.” 

“I accept the amendment: since October the 
sixth, 1870,” acquiesced Lord Fordingbridge. 


244 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


Mr. Bagford shook his head wearily. 

“To tell you the truth I had an idea she might be 
a spy of yours or something of the kind,” he ex¬ 
plained. “Then, finding she was not, I fell in love 
with her. She made my support of the govern¬ 
ment’s foreign policy a condition of the engage¬ 
ment. There are some things in my life which I 
regret, but this is not one of them, and never will be. 
I promised Virginia to support Lord Fording- 
bridge’s foreign policy, and I shall continue to do 
so, even if it drives him out of office. As a matter 
of fact she thought she was doing him a good turn. 
I didn’t think. I was in love.” 

“My dear Mr. Bagford,” said Lord Fording- 
bridge very solemnly, “the man who would break 
his word to a woman is not worthy of the name of 
an English gentleman.” 

“It is one of a gentleman’s greatest handicaps,” 
observed Sir Charles, “particularly as a lady may 
break hers all day and all night, and still preserve 
her social standing.” 

A strangled sound which he was totally unable to 
suppress burst from the throat of Rupert. He rose, 
murmured good night, and staggered rather than 
walked from the room. 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


245 


“Poor lad, he’s hard hit!" declared Lord Fording- 
bridge solemnly. “How true it is that one man's 
meat is another man's poison. Well, I suppose I 
must go hurtling to my political doom, supported 
by the undivided applause of the newspapers. I 
beg you to understand, however, Mr. Bagford, that 
my reprieve would be dearly bought at the price of 
your peace of mind. In the circumstances, if I were 
given the choice of victory or Westminster Abbey, 
I should begin instantly to discuss the form of my 
tombstone with the Dean and Chapter." 

The firm, clean-shaven lips of Mr. Bagford curled 
in contempt. 

“So you’ll take it lying down," he taunted, 
“owing to the traditions of the ancient name and all 
that sort of thing. Thank God I was born in the 
gutter! I’d rather die than give in. I've fought 
and snarled and bitten, and gone down and got up 
again, and gouged people’s eyes, and lied, and stolen, 
and schemed, and in the long run I've won. Either 
the other man or I has got to turn up his toes if he 
comes up against me. This is a rough world, gentle¬ 
man, and needs rough handling. How could I pro¬ 
tect Virginia if I were prepared to chuck up the 
sponge at any minute for the sake of my fine feel- 


246 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


ings? When we have a son, if he shows any of 
this aristocratic taint, first I’ll lam the hide off him 
and then I’ll give him a job as a packer in the ware¬ 
house to cure him of soft hands.” 

“Have some more whisky, Mr. Bagford?” sug¬ 
gested Sir Charles dreamily. “I can recommend it. 
My father laid it down many years ago, and there 
isn’t a headache in a hogshead of it. By the way, 
George, what do you fancy for the Sheffield Stakes? 
Personally I have an entirely open mind.” 

“Charles,” began Vingie thoughtfully, one eve¬ 
ning, when, having bathed away the outer grime 
of journalism, she delighted his eyes at dinner in 
his small Park Street town house, “I think to permit 
illusion is one of the greatest crimes, don’t you?” 

“I consider it a debatable point whether one 
should or should not destroy the fool’s paradise of 
another person,” responded Sir Charles. “By some 
it is maintained that only fools are happy. On the 
other hand the sight of some one persisting in his 
foolishness becomes pathetic after a time. To the 
intelligent there is much pathos in life, my dear Vir¬ 
ginia.” 

She smiled across at him with devastating charm. 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


247 


“I was thinking of Jim—Mr. Bagford, you know. 
Of course, Jim’s all wrong. He’s bearable at pres¬ 
ent because he wants to keep me in a deceived state, 
but his whole life has been spent having his own 
way. If we were married he’d treat me like an idiot 
child. I should never be supposed to possess a mind 
of my own. I think it’s only fair, don’t you, to 
show him from the first the kind of life I expect to 
lead? After all, if a man isn’t your slave, what on 
earth is the use of him?” 

“That,” declared Sir Charles, “is very true. Man 
is never happy in complete freedom. He ceases to 
be the slave of one woman merely because he has 
become the slave of another. He hugs his chains, 
or rather his jailer. Variety in slavery is the best he 
can ever hope for.” 

“You see, Charles, I’ve put up the circulation of 
his paper, or rather shown him how to do it. I think 
it’s time he did something for me. Jim needs bully¬ 
ing; so far nobody’s ever done it. Don’t you agree 
that he ought to hear the crack of the whip ?” 

“Be temperate in your chastisement,” implored 
Sir Charles, much against his will. “Remember that 
the young are merciless by nature. After all, he is 
nearly as old as I am.” 


248 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


Vingie, nibbling a salted almond, looked at him 
with dove’s eyes. 

“My dear, you’re so wonderful. You’ve got such 
breadth of mind—sympathy, and you understand. 
Very few people understand, Charles. Still, some¬ 
times one must be cruel to be kind.” Her teeth 
crunched ominously on the savory, innocent morsel. 

Thus it happened that next day, at the council 
table in his vast room, Mr. Bagford found her cold 
and distraite. 

“I agree with you that to-morrow’s paper’s pretty 
good,” she said slowly. “The point is, Jim, you’re 
neglecting me frightfully. I didn’t get engaged to 
you simply to double your circulation for the large 
salary of fifteen pounds a week. You take every¬ 
thing and give nothing. Except for a few beastly 
lunches when you talk about yourself all the time I 
might be a typist or even a girl messenger. You 
haven’t any imagination. It may amaze you to be 
told that an engaged girl expects a little romance, a 
love-affair, some of the perfume and bath-salts side 
of life.” 

“But, my dear-■” he interrupted feebly. 

“You take me about in a filthy three-year-old 
Rolls Royce that smells of company-promoters and 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


249 


shady politicians, and buy me lunch in some grill 
room, and talk my head off in this office, and sponge 
on me for ideas, and once you gave me the sort of 
gold wrist-watch my own maid wouldn’t be found 
drowned with. We might—good heavens, we might 
be married!” stormed Vingie. 

Mr. Bagford leaned back in his chair, and 
perspiration beaded his brow. 

“I beg your pardon, Virginia,” he said in a voice 
of awe. “Perhaps I’m not accustomed to a girl of 
your type. I thought you were as absorbed as I am 
in the paper. I should have remembered your age, 
and how pretty you are, and the sort of interests a 
young girl has.” 

“You’d better get a 1924 Rolls salon,” com¬ 
manded Vingie. “You needn’t give me things; I’ve 
got all the jewelry and odds and ends I care about, 
but I insist on your entering into my social life. 
What on earth’s the use of being engaged to some 
one nobody ever sees? Do you suppose this damned 
rag of yours means anything to any one who mat¬ 
ters? My dear, they only buy it for the servants to 
read!” 

She got up and walked toward the door. “I’ll 
send you a list of engagements for the next fort- 


250 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


night,” she ended icily. “I expect you to go with 
me to every one of them. I refuse to be engaged to 
a ghost. You needn’t come down with me. The 
commissionaire knows how to look after a girl much 
better than you do. He used to be in a good regi¬ 
ment.” 

On her way out she glanced into Mr. Berriman’s 
room. 

“Pass the word for every one to be very careful,” 
she said pleasantly. “You’ll find the chief in an 
extremely bad temper. I’ve just been speaking a 
very little piece of my mind, and he isn’t used to it 
yet.” 

There began in those days an era of suffering for 
Mr. Bagford. Vingie took him from great things 
and made him to be like a tawny tiger confined in a 
larger edition of a squirrel’s cage, turning the petty 
social wheel when his mighty mind clamored for 
great schemes and colossal enterprises. He became 
like a bloodhound turned into a lady’s lap dog, like a 
racing Sunbeam condemned to take a lady shopping. 

He was to be seen at first nights and dance-clubs, 
barbered, tailored and groomed to a satin polish, 
fretting his nerves to pieces, attendant on a soulless, 
artificial Vingie, a mere manicured and maquillee 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


251 


silhouette wound up to dance and chatter. One met 
him at drawing-room concerts given by great ladies 
to launch twittering Polish musicians. There came 
not a horse show, a flower show, a polo tournament, 
or a fashionable race-meeting, but he attended. He 
even suffered the degradation of political receptions, 
he who had toyed with politicians and pulled po¬ 
litical wires these twenty years. 

The Duke of Birmingham, encountering him 
leaning against a pillar, dull-eyed and morose, at the 
Marchioness of Cricklewood’s banquet on the eve 
of the Bill for the Further Enfranchisement of 
Adult (Female) Persons, put up his eye-glass and 
said in a cultured monotone: 

“Bored, what?” 

To which Mr. Bagford, goaded beyond measure, 
made answer: 

“So would you be if you had the brains of a 
rabbit.” 

“Oh, quite, quite!” responded His Grace sym¬ 
pathetically. 

Rupert, moving amid the throng with an expres¬ 
sion of political wisdom on his face and a broken 
heart throbbing in his chest, paused for a moment 
beside Vingie. 


252 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


“You look very beautiful to-night,” he said, with 
a lover’s sad intensity of feeling. 

She turned on him a flippant smile. 

“I shine for my fiance ” she explained. “He’s 
being schooled in the society arena to make him a 
good husband. Why do you look so unhappy, my 
very dear?” 

“I’m dying of a hopeless love, and the govern¬ 
ment’s dying of a hopeless foreign policy. Neither 
is a cheerful business for me,” he answered sorrow¬ 
fully. 

She drifted on almost into the arms of Lord 
Fordingbridge, who surveyed her with a wistful 
smile. 

“I beg you to elope with me when I am flung out 
of office,” he said, betraying all the cheerfulness of 
a condemned man who catches the warder cheating 
him at a game of draughts. “I shall depart to the 
north of Scotland and write my reminiscences in 
the snow. The trouble is I spell so disgracefully, 
but I dare say I can hire some clever fellow to put in 
the commas and full stops afterward. I’d like a 
lovely companion in exile. We must ask Charles 
about it. I insist on asking Charles!” 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


253 


On a Sunday in the sunshine Mr. Bagford’s 1924 
Rolls Royce salon conveyed Vingie, delicious in 
sports clothes, and himself to a quiet country inn 
■where they lunched upon the kindly fruits of the 
earth, taking coffee subsequently in a rose-embow¬ 
ered summer-house all among the earwigs. As the 
smoke of her cigarette curled lazily roof ward, Mr. 
Bagford unburdened his soul. 

“Virginia, dear,” he began, “I’ve been consulting 
my conscience very seriously, and I have very grave 
doubts whether I’m fit to marry you.” 

Vingie, giggling internally, recognized a point in 
the game for which she had been playing. Out¬ 
wardly grave she replied: 

“My dear Jim, whatever do you mean?” 

“There have been other women in my life,” con¬ 
fessed Mr. Bagford, fixing a stern brave gaze upon 
the far horizon. “If you were a widow, or at least 
ten years older, I could overlook my past. As it 

He left the sentence unfinished. Sometimes it is 
better so. 

Vingie sighed in regretful resignation. 

“I suppose no man is exactly a Sir Galahad at 


254 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


fifty,” she replied. “Still, Jim, all that’s over now. 
After all, a girl who moves in society recognizes that 
men are—well, what they are. Even darling 
Charles has kissed several women in the course of 
his life. I don’t suppose you’ve been noticeably 
dreadful, have you?” 

Mr. Bagford shook his head. 

“I remember a girl at the Hilarium Theater when 
I was twenty-five. That flirtation lasted six years. 
We fell desperately in love. I thought my pulse 
would never beat faster for any woman again, until 
I met a lady-in-waiting to the then Queen of Greece 
when I was special correspondent at Athens. These 
Greek women are terribly temperamental. One of 
the equerries did his best to shoot me over that.” 

“How interesting!” murmured Vingie, looking at 
him with a new respect in her eyes. “Were there 
any more?” 

“Olga Petrovskaya, at Petrograd, in 1913, when I 
attended the Grand Maneuvers of the Russian Army 
was another. I’m afraid we should actually have 
eloped only the grand duke returned very suddenly. 
The sleigh was actually at the door, and she had 
packed her jewels.” 

“What happened ?” demanded Vingie eagerly. 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


255 


“She unpacked them and sent the sleigh back to 
the stables, and I wrote a very nasty criticism of the 
grand duke’s handling of his brigade,” said Mr. 
Bagford with morose relish. 

“But,” suggested Vingie, “those are peccadilloes 
of the past. Surely there’s been nothing lately?” 
Mr. Bagford shook his head. 

“Actually when you came to the office I was 
rather deeply involved in what I believed, until I 
met you, was the love of my life,” he answered 
slowly and painfully. “She is about thirty. They 
take things very seriously at that age. She repre¬ 
sents the gentle, affectionate type—the primeval 
mother-woman, a brown-eyed, soft-voiced creature 
—very restful in her ways. To be quite candid, I’m 
afraid she may break her heart.” 

Vingie linked her fingers in his with a little sigh. 

“Jim, you’ve been very wicked, haven’t you! I 
shall have a frightful job to keep you, I suppose. 
I’m awfully sorry for the brown-eyed woman— 
thirty you said she was, didn’t you?—but she’d 
never be happy with you even if you married her. 
Your soul would be always calling to mine, and 
she’d know, and go through hell—simply hell! I’m 
glad you’ve told me all this because it shows you’re 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


256 

very honest." She held up an oval cheek and looked 
away from him. “Kiss me—just once," she ended, 
and obediently Mr. Bagford’s lips brushed lightly 
her fragrant skin. 

In the car as they fled homeward he sat lost in 
thought, hunched in his corner against the taupe 
upholstery. Finally he said with an air of deep 
regret: 

“I may be compelled to visit the United States 
very shortly. There are rather delicate negotiations 
with a New York paper over a series of articles. If 
I have to go the voyage may do me good. Lately, 
since we’ve been going out together so much I don’t 
get a great deal of sleep." 

“Poor Jim," murmured a soothing voice. “You 
won’t forget our list of engagements for next week, 
will you? and you’ll hurry back to me from America 
if you really do go? You might travel to and from 
Cherbourg by air. I believe it saves quite several 
hours. Of course, I'll wireless to you every day. 
You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Jim?" 

“The comedy is nearly played out," she told her¬ 
self in the serene calm of her Park Street bedroom, 
standing thoughtfully before the mirror in a suit of 
very inspired silk undies. “Soon I must take pity on 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


257 


poor Jim and release him. After all I only got 
engaged to save George Fordingbridge from an 
attack by the Daily Tale . I’d better find out how 
soon it will be safe to let Jim go. As for marrying 
him—poor thing, if he only knew!” 

She stood meekly while Mary slipped an evening 
frock over her head, and went down to find a brief 
note from Rupert, beseeching her to lunch with him 
next day at the Ramillies Club. “It may be the last 
opportunity for some time, and you would give me 
very great pleasure,” she read in his excessively neat 
handwriting. 

“And what,” she inquired when he smiled upon 
her in melancholy pleasure across a secluded table, 
“is the hidden mystery you hint at, Rupert, darling ? 
You look like one who is about to take farewell of 
all familiar things.” 

“I am,” answered Rupert Frack dolefully. “I 
shall ask you presently to come and help me choose 
hot-weather kit. I sail shortly for South America.” 

“But, my dear, in heaven’s name why?” 

Rupert leaned back in his chair and summed up 
the situation. 

“The government will have to resign on the Jugo- 
Czechian question. You see, Fordingbridge had an 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


258 

understanding with—with—with the man you’re 
engaged to, which was that the Daily Tale should 
always oppose our foreign policy. Sometimes we 
like to commit ourselves too deeply, and then popu¬ 
lar clamor in the press enables us to retreat in def¬ 
erence to public opinion. But you made Bagford 
promise not to oppose us as a condition of your en¬ 
gagement. Thus we were completely undone. He 
couldn’t withdraw, and Fordingbridge quite rightly 
refused to wreck your—er—happiness to save his 
political reputation. We shall be defeated on the 
Debate to-morrow night. He has very kindly ob¬ 
tained a post for me in one of our South American 
Embassies as a last act of friendship. He himself 
will retire to Scotland to write his reminis¬ 
cences.” 

“And I shall only have Charles left,” murmured 
Vingie. 

Rupert shook his head. 

“Uncle Charles, completely dissatisfied with the 
turn of political events, is making a trip round the 
world. He feels that in a few years age will prevent 
further travel, and as you will be happily married he 
proposed to seize the present opportunity.” 

Vingie ate her last spoonful of ice, and spoke 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 259 

slowly through the locked barrier of her pearly 
teeth. 

“I think," she said, “men are the most pure and 
holy fools in all creation. If you’d only told me, if 
you hadn’t gone about mumbling your silly mumbo- 
jumbo, and being mysterious in smoking-rooms, and 
saying to one another: ‘Hush! Here comes the 
poor girl! We must keep it from her at any cost!’ 
I could have saved you long ago. As it is I have 
just time. Do you suppose I want to marry that 
impossible man, Rupert ? Do you imagine I had any 
intention of marrying him? I merely toyed with 
him for the sake, as I thought, of George. This 
comes of George trying to play a double game. I’m 
not surprised, but that Charles should be deceived 
grieves me.’’ 

“I fail to see what you can do,’’ responded Rupert 
heavily. 

“I shall prevent you wasting money on hot- 
weather kit. Take me in your car to the Daily Tale 
instantly.’’ 

“But how-’’ he began. 

Vingie stamped her slender foot. 

“Do I sit here and lecture to you on journalism, 
or do I not? ‘From information which only now 



26 o 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


reaches us’—the leader writer will say. For 
heaven’s sake hurry. There’s such a thing as time, 
my dear man.” 

In the vast room of Mr. Bagford her delicious 
frock struck a pleasant note of charm. She walked 
slowly across the terrific sea of carpet in which he 
sat enisled and placed a hand affectionately on his 
arm. 

“I am sailing for New York next week in the 
Aquitania ” he began, but she halted him with a 
gesture. 

“You needn’t, Jim,” she said gently. “I’ve seen 
you fretting at your chains for weeks. I’ll let you 
off on one condition. You must come out with a 
violent attack on Lord Fordingbridge to-morrow 
morning, otherwise he’ll be defeated in the debate 
on Jugo-Czechia to-morrow evening. I’ve just been 
told the curious situation between you and him. I 
thought I was helping him, and you let me make 
a fool of myself. That, my dear Jim, is unfor¬ 
givable. Unless the attack to-morrow morning is 
perfectly scurrilous you will be compelled to marry 
me and keep me for life.” 

A wan yet happy smile spread slowly over the 
face of Mr. Bagford. “Naturally, this breaking of 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 261 

our engagement is a great blow to me,” he mur¬ 
mured. “Still you know best, Virginia; I will give 
Lord Fordingbridge the splash column and write the 
leader myself. Nobody else would dare to be suf¬ 
ficiently unpleasant.” 

At midnight after the debate on Jugo-Czechia, 
Lord Fordingbridge supped at Sir Charles’ house. 
Vingie ministered to him with her own slender 
hands, which first he kissed in the old-time manner. 

“My laurel-wreath is a little awry,” he confessed, 
“but I have escaped the wilderness. We carried the 
day by a very narrow majority thanks entirely to 
you, my dear Virginia. This morning’s Daily Tale 
was marvelous—marvelous. I am almost thinking 
of a libel action against them.” 

“My dear, why did you let me put you in such 
danger? Why didn’t you trust me?” she mur¬ 
mured, pouring champagne into his glass. 

Lord Fordingbridge sipped reverently. 

“A wonderful wine!” he declared, glancing re¬ 
spectfully at Sir Charles. “It gives me strength to 
confess. Y’see, my dear, I would have explained 
the whole thing long ago, but Rupert wouldn’t let 
me. He’s a trifle more fond of you than you 


262 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


imagine, and this engagement of yours—from the 
most worthy motives I admit—positively lacerated 
him. So what does he do but get out the Machia¬ 
vellian scheme of letting you continue in ignorance. 
'The change, when it comes, will be so dramatic we 
shall win hands down,' says Rupert. 

" 'But how can you guarantee to put everything 
right at the last moment?’ says I. 

" 'Leave it to me!’ says Rupert.” 

Lord Fordingbridge moistened his parched lips, 
and continued: 

"That little story he told you at luncheon yester¬ 
day wasn’t quite accurate. I’m not writing my 
reminiscences, Charles isn’t going round the world, 
and Rupert doesn’t sail for South America. But 
your action on hearing it, my dear Virginia— 
masterly, Napoleonic, indescribable. The govern¬ 
ment owes you a debt of gratitude it can never 
repay.” 

The smile hovering round Vingie’s mouth might 
have graced the lips of Torquemada at the grilling 
of a heretic. 

“I will give you an opportunity to try,” she 
observed sweetly. "You shall lend me Rupert to¬ 
morrow afternoon. I would like him to return in 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


263 


person the gold wristlet watch which Mr. Bagford 
gave me while we were engaged. I understand 
these young men of the Foreign Office pride them¬ 
selves on their tact.” 

Sir Charles poured her a glass of champagne and 
came forward. 

“You and I, Virginia, are still bachelors,” he said 
with triumph. “Let us drink to our freedom. Long 
may it last!” 

With a superb gesture Vingie drained the golden 
wine, cast the glass on the floor, and crushed it 
beneath her heel. 

“Amen, Charles,” she replied fervently. “You 
needn’t look so alarmed. It isn’t one of our best 
glasses.” 


XII 


W ITHIN the delicate shelter of her own 
sitting-room at Wynwood, Vingie, her slen¬ 
der loveliness supine on a black satin divan skilfully 
reinforced with cushions, gazed pathetically at Sir 
Charles. Her eyes held infinite depths of sadness; 
the touch of artificial color on her wan cheeks, 
the pallor of two slender hands might have wrung 
a heart plated in triple bronze. 

With a little sigh, she put all her woe into words. 
“Charles, darling, you make genuine angels look 
like selfish pigs,” she began. “You sit here on 
stupid girl’s furniture you don’t like and dine off 
iced consomme, a wing of chicken, mousse aux 
framboises, a scrap of cream cheese and half a 
bottle of Perrier-Jouet just to cheer up a wretched 
invalid like me, when you might have enjoyed a 
respectable meal down-stairs. They don’t breed 
men of your sort nowadays. I do realize how lucky 
I am to have you. Give me a cigarette, there’s a 
264 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 265 

dear. It's another nail in my coffin, but who 
cares ?" 

Sir Charles rose benignly and proffered fragrant 
Egyptians in an onyx box. 

“You dispense charming hospitality, Virginia. 
With the exception of the Marchesa di Santa Lucia 
at Firenze in 1881, and she has been dead these 
many years, I have never known a more perfect 
hostess. Personally, I found the wine nectar and 
the food ambrosia." 

“I don’t want to bore you with the whinings of a 
peevish hag of twenty-two," continued Vingie, “but 
this influenza leaves one absolutely spineless. It 
may be the reaction, but, Charles, I see before me 
only a long and profitless life. I feel convinced I 
shall never marry or achieve a great love. My de¬ 
clining years will be spent patronizing charity con¬ 
certs and feeding Pekinese dogs." 

“These are morbid symptoms," declared Sir 
Charles anxiously. “We must ask Sir Thompson 
Johnson to prescribe a reliable tonic. In addition, 
possibly a cruise in the yacht of some wealthy friend 
might assist matters." 

Vingie shook her fair head sadly. 

“I am a born flirt, Charles. I’ve frittered away 


266 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


the years and toyed with men and dabbled in emo¬ 
tions. Now I shall pay the price, because I haven’t 
got a heart left.” 

‘That is not the opinion of Rupert, Virginia. He 
cherishes the most supreme devotion for you. 
When age compels George Fordingbridge to lay 
aside the cares of state, Rupert will undoubtedly 
become Minister for Foreign Affairs.” 

Vingie threw out her white arms despairingly. 

“I, if 1 perish, perish, but to marry Rupert would 
be living death,” she cried. “He does everything 
well and nothing wrong. He’s the most insipid 
thing on earth. How could I endure him after you, 
Charles? How can I give up the most delicious 
hors d’oeuvres for an eternal diet of rice pudding? 
If I were to marry I should need some fascinating 
scoundrel who might whip me black and blue on 
Friday, but would certainly provide a wonderful 
adventure on Tuesday.” 

Sir Charles gazed at her thoughtfully. 

“As you know,” he observed, “I never married. 
I have always been a sprinter rather than a stayer. 
A brilliant five furlongs held a greater appeal for 
me than a mournful three miles. If I had met in 
my young days a woman with your tact and bril- 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 267 

liance and beauty it might have been otherwise. 
Nevertheless I have observed the married, and it 
occurs to me that regular meals, a settled home, an 
adequate income and a brilliant if steady husband 
have their attractions. A delightful young married 
woman need never lack admirers in addition to her 
lawful spouse. After all we do not live in the 
eighteen-forties.” 

She put out a hand and touched his sleeve. 

“Darling, you’ve perfectly sweet to poor little 
Vingie, but for heaven’s sake don’t sit there and 
match-make. The very idea of men wearies me 
just now. If all the Brigade of Guards, and all the 
best-looking actors, groveled at my feet I should 
merely writhe and turn away. Please, Charles, will 
you be an angel and lend me your little Dorset cot¬ 
tage and let me go down there with just a maid, and 
be alone except for the flowers and the birds and 
things. I think if you don’t mind, I want to try to 
find my soul.” 

Sir Charles shook his gray head despondently. 

“You may have everything I possess in the world 
to do as you like with, but your remarks leave me 
very perturbed. I should like Alastair McMenzies, 
the nerve specialist, to see you in consultation with 


268 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


Sir Thompson Johnson before you go away. You 
are very far from your normal state of health, my 
dear Virginia.” 

She scarcely heard him. She murmured on 
dreamily: 

“No men, no restlessness, no love; only green 
leaves and tender grass, and blue sky. Perhaps later 
on I might enter a convent. They say you have to 
dig a little piece of your own grave every day-” 

“I shall telephone to McMenzies at once,” inter¬ 
rupted Sir Charles, with concern in his voice. “It 
is declared that he achieves wonderful results with 
the new gland treatment. I reproach myself for 
not consulting him even earlier. ,, 

Standing beside Sir Charles at the great entrance 
of Wynwood, Lord Fordingbridge betrayed joy and 
solicitude in equal measure; he had known Vingie 
since she was a child, and the faint traces of her 
late illness distressed him. He conducted her per¬ 
sonally to the driving seat of a little ten horsepower 
Wonderful car within which a maid and luggage 
were already disposed. 

“Bon voyage, and a complete recovery, my dear!” 
he exclaimed earnestly. “May the air, the peace, 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


269 


and the good cream of Dorset restore you to your 
former health. It grieves me to see you even 
slightly indisposed/' 

Sir Charles, also bareheaded, waved a beneficent 
hand as the car glided away. 

The two elderly gentlemen watched it till it dis¬ 
appeared, and returned slowly to the library. They 
had reached that perfect friendship born of common 
interests, identical training, a similar outlook on life, 
and congenial sins. Sir Charles indicated the cigars 
and rang for whisky-and-soda. 

‘‘How is Rupert progressing?" he inquired after 
a long silence. 

Lord Fordingbridge shrugged his shoulders. 

“My dear Charles, he works. He takes just suf¬ 
ficient exercise to keep himself fit, and a damn' for¬ 
lorn sight it is to see him do it. These women have 
a great deal to answer for. As far as he’s con¬ 
cerned, the sun rises and sets in Virginia’s eyes, and 
since she won’t look at him, he remains permanently 
in the valley of the shadow so to speak. A dear boy, 
too. Equally, she’s a dear girl. Charles, did you 
and I really take these things quite so seriously in 
our time ?’’ 

Sir Charles raised his eyebrows very faintly. 


270 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


“I think you and I were a little more ruthless and 
the women of our day a little more kind, George. 
The most obstinate girl I remember came rapidly to 
her senses after I had thrown my rival—a German 
attache I believe—into an ornamental pond. She 
and I were then inseparable for quite three months. 
In these days, men are too forgiving and women too 
difficult.” 

“You’re a clever fellow, Charles,” declared Lord 
Fordingbridge in frank admiration. “You put it all 
so clearly that even a foolish person like myself can 
understand. It takes me back to the old days—it 
must have been in ’eighty-eight—when I put Mary 
Canterbury, court train and all, on a particularly 
high mantelpiece in one of the drawing-rooms at 
the Imperial Palace of Schonbrunn, and made her 
stay there till she promised to kiss me. You can’t 
imagine Rupert doing that to Virginia.” 

“No, George, but if only he would he might find 
her a very different girl, if I may say so.” 

“He loves her too much, Charles. He’d be afraid 
of breaking her heart” 

“If he were riding a race he might just as well 
shrink from putting his mare at a jump for fear of 
breaking her neck,” declared Sir Charles with in- 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 271 

finite contempt. “I have long made up my mind 
that Virginia ought to marry Rupert. Any one but 
themselves can see they are absolutely suited to each 
other” 

“Oh, quite! quite! But if a stupid old man may 
be forgiven the question, how are you going to bring 
it about?” 

Sir Charles drank thoughtfully, set down his 
glass, and lighted a fresh cigar. 

“They are both green recruits, George, and there¬ 
fore they must be taught. In training recruits 
we employ experienced non-commissioned officers. 
Consequently in the case of Virginia and Rupert we 
must choose people as nearly of our own day as is 
consistent with the necessary attraction. In my own 
circle of acquaintance there is a certain delightful 
widow, Mrs. Trevor-James, who would use her 
good offices with Rupert on my behalf.” 

“And still,” murmured Lord Fordingbridge, “I 
don’t think I quite understand.” 

“My dear George,” elaborated Sir Charles with 
patience, “these deluded young people must be made 
to fall in love, separately and individually, with 
some one older, wiser, more unscrupulous, more 
experienced, than herself or himself. Do not, I beg 


272 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


of you, say it is impossible, for that would reflect 
on your intelligence. Mrs. Trevor-James would 
have Rupert at her feet in less than one hour. She 
is only forty-three, and indescribably charming. 
After she has tormented him to the edge of mad¬ 
ness, she will dismiss him, and he will turn in¬ 
stinctively to Virginia for comfort and revenge, 
using against her the tactics he has learned from 
Mrs. Trevor James. It only remains to find a man 
who will afford Virginia similar treatment. That I 
admit is slightly more difficult. She has a certain 
subtlety not found in Rupert, or most men for that 
matter." 

Lord Fordingbridge half closed his eyes. 

“It needs a horse-soldier," he said at last, speak¬ 
ing as an ex-subaltern of the Thirtieth Hussars, 
more affectionately known as the Poppy-Shirts, 
from their habit of swimming in gore when on 
active service. “As a matter of fact I know the very 
man, and he's back from India on leave at this 
actual moment. His name is Geoffrey Forrester— 
one of the Sherwood Forresters, y’know. He’s a 
major in the Guides Cavalry, but he’s also been 
A.D.C. to the Viceroy, and Simla still talks about 
him, though it's years ago. He's only forty, and 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


273 

as good a polo-player as India has turned out since 
the mutiny. Shall I let him loose, Charles?” 

Sir Charles shook his gray head. 

“It would be better not to do that openly. Speak¬ 
ing from experience, I should say that Forrester, 
directly he landed, came up to London and began to 
rediscover the joys of his youth. By this time he 
will be ripe for a little quiet relaxation and the pur¬ 
suits of the country. I suggest that you offer him, 
from me, the shooting at my Dorset place. You’d 
better explain that I can’t offer to put him up be¬ 
cause my ward is staying at the cottage to recover 
from an illness, that she is alone, practically un¬ 
chaperoned, and is seeing no one at present. They 
will, however, make him very comfortable at the 
village inn. Short of casting him into Virginia’s 
arms I can think of no more reliable scheme to make 
them acquainted. Solitude and natural curiosity 
will do the rest.” 

“My dear Charles,” said Lord Fordingbridge 
simply, “upon my word I don’t know how the diplo¬ 
matic service exists without you. I should never 
have thought of that in a thousand years. I take 
it that you will arrange personally the little matter 
of Rupert and Mrs. Trevor-James?” 


274 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


“I shall do myself the honor of calling on her to¬ 
morrow, George. Heigho! If only I were ten 
years younger!” 

“My dear fellow, in that case you might be running 
your own neck into danger. As it is you’re probably 
enjoying the exquisite bouquet of a delicate flirta¬ 
tion without the risk of a headache afterward,” 
comforted Lord Fordingbridge. 

The truth of this became manifest when Sir 
Charles sat, a very courtly figure, in the drawing¬ 
room of Mrs. Trevor-James’ charming flat over¬ 
looking the park. She turned upon him caressing 
eyes and the witchery of a sinuous figure, allowing 
him a far greater indulgence because in his case she 
felt it did not matter in the very least. She found 
the situation most soothing in consequence. 

“My delightful Charles,” she said, in the golden 
voice which had ravished at least three generations, 
“if the young man must be lacerated I will use the 
knife according to my accustomed skill and bind up 
his wounds with tender fingers. In spite of that I 
shall send him away before they are healed. It is 
the healing that counts, as you and I know only too 
well.” 

“Agatha, you are incomparable,” declared Sir 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


275 


Charles, smiling his admiration, dashed with a hint 
of pathos. “If only it were possible how gladly 
would I offer myself for vivisection!” 

“I am convinced of it,” replied Mrs. Trevor- 
James, daring to speak the truth, the whole truth, 
and nothing but the truth for the first and last time 
in her varied and interesting career. 

To the little ears of Vingie, lingering at ten- 
thirty a.m. in her bed according to the license of a 
convalescent, came the far-off explosion of a shot¬ 
gun. She paused with a teacup half-way to her 
mouth and glanced inquiringly at Mary who ar¬ 
ranged deftly a simple country kit. 

“That would be the strange gentleman, miss,” 
commented Mary. 

“What strange gentleman? There are no men 
here, Mary. That’s the unique charm of the place. 
It allows us to be our dreadful natural selves.” 

Mary shook her pretty head meaningly. 

“The gardener’s wife told me, miss. Sir Charles 
has lent the shooting to a gentleman from India, a 
Major Forrester. He’s staying down in the village 
at the White-Faced Goat. It does seem lonely for 
him, doesn’t it?” 


276 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


Vingie put down the teacup with a slight crash. 

‘'How dare Charles do such a thing, when I came 
down here for peace, especially without telling me ?” 
she demanded. “We brought the very oldest clothes 
I possess. Put out the knitted silk stockings, Mary. 
I loathe wool day after day. At any rate we need 
see nothing of this interloper.” 

“He generally goes home along that path that 
runs up from the wood at the back of the house, 
miss,” said Mary casually. 

“How do you know?” 

“Well, miss, it’s a bit lonely down here, and I 
thought it wouldn’t do any harm just to look at a 
gentleman. I hid behind that hedge of wild-roses. 
You can see quite well from there.” 

Vingie glanced up from a careful scrutiny of her 
face in a hand-mirror. “You don’t think this in¬ 
fluenza has made me look any older, do you?” she 
inquired anxiously. “Be very careful not to attract 
the man’s attention, Mary, and if he calls say I’m far 
too tired to see any one.” 

Roughly twenty-four hours later, Major Geoffrey 
Forrester, D.S.O., M.C., returning from the wild in 
pleasantly battered shooting kit, an old briar pipe 
skewed in the corner of his mouth, one of Belgium 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 277 

& Belgium’s inimitable guns in the crook of his arm, 
beheld a curiously ravishing female figure saunter¬ 
ing toward him along the path that runs up from the 
wood at the back of the house. He thought he saw 
a dryad divorced from her selected tree, or Artemis 
weary of the chase, but it was merely the boy-girl 
figure of Vingie in a sports coat and brief tweed 
skirt. Even her knitted silk stockings, as the major 
observed with hawk eyes trained in the warfare of 
Waziristan, could not destroy the lovely lines of two 
slender legs. 

The major removed his pipe from his mouth and 
his battered hat from his head and smiled a smile 
that has become legendary in Simla and Mussoorie. 

“I beg your pardon,” he said in his pleasant easy 
voice. “I shouldn’t like you to think I’m trespassin’. 
Sir Charles Gillespie lent me the shootin’ through 
George Fordingbridge, a dear old pal of mine. May 
I be allowed to hope that this beautiful air is doin’ 
you good ?” 

Vingie looked at him with the slight pathos of an 
invalid and the mute suggestion that Providence 
might have sent her something better, except that 
she was too weak to care either way. 

“Charles didn’t mention the matter, but I’m quite 


2 y 8 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


sure it’s all right. The air, as you say, is beautiful. 
I hope the fine weather will continue,” she re¬ 
sponded, and made as if to pass on. 

“My name,” pursued the major with placid per¬ 
severance, “is Geoffrey Forrester. I imagine you 
must be Miss Lauriston. It’s a darned shame you 
had such a nasty touch of influenza. I was very dis¬ 
tressed when George told me. I’ve kept well away 
from the house so that the noise of the gun shouldn’t 
worry you. Is this your first day out-of-doors?” 

“No,” said Vingie listlessly. “Thank you for 
being so kind about the gun. I don’t think I ought 
to stand talking-” 

“Certainly not,” declared her acquaintance firmly. 
“Extremely tryin’ to stand about when one’s rather 
under the weather. If you’ll allow me I’ll see you 
safely back to the house. I wish I could offer you 
the spoils of the chase, but it only amounted to a 
couple of bunnies.” 

“If there’s one thing I loathe more than another 
it’s rabbit in any shape or form,” confessed Vingie, 
looking at him sadly. “I suppose you’re staying at 
the inn. I believe the cooking is plain but satisfying. 
I’d ask you to luncheon only I don’t suppose there’s 
enough for two, and you’d hate invalid food, and I 



VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


279 

look like nothing on earth and I’m too tired to be 
amusing.” 

“Even a crust of bread with you would eclipse a 
banquet at the White-Faced Goat. If that’s an in¬ 
vitation I’ll do my poor best to amuse you,” he 
answered with gentle humility, or so it appeared. 

They passed together within the low-roofed dim¬ 
ness of Sir Charles’cottage. Vingie sank into an 
armchair and waved him toward the bell. “Mary,” 
she commanded when that maiden appeared, “two 
cocktails, please, and tell cook Major Forrester is 
staying for luncheon.” A little gleam lurked in her 
eyes. Major Forrester offered his cigarette-case 
with a faint sigh of satisfaction. She was, he 
thought, an adorable thing. Thank God his ripe 
experience would allow him to do her justice. 

It came to pass that in those days Mary began 
to lift up her voice in thanksgiving, the atmosphere 
of intrigue and romance being incense in her nos¬ 
trils. Also, pursuant to instructions, she wired to 
London for new frocks. Vingie had come simul¬ 
taneously to the beginning of a campaign and the 
end of her wardrobe. 

A week or so later she sat collapsed in an attrac¬ 
tive heap on the cliff edge, gazing idly at the sunlit 


280 VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 

bay; beside her Geoffrey Forrester lay like a good- 
tempered dog, chewing, dog-like, a blade of grass. 
The pleasantly drowsy brain of Vingie revolved 
little problems: “Shall I make him kiss me and 
then beat him for it, and see what he’s really like, 
or shall we drift on as we are? Do I really care 
what he’s like ? Am I sufficiently interested to make 
the effort? Isn’t the sun heavenly? Shall I have 
my gold evening frock altered or leave it alone?” 

“She’s thinking what a delightful fellow I am— 
just thrillin’ enough, but not too much. Some men 
are so aboriginal,” reflected the major. “A nice 
little girl; sufficiently intelligent to appreciate one 
at one’s modest value.” 

“Geoffrey,” said Vingie suddenly, “why are you 
content to lead such a futile life?” 

“Prettiest of pretty ladies, whatever do you 
mean?” 

“I mean your little clockwork round: so many 
years in India, so much leave at home; a bit of 
shooting, a bit of racing, strictly limited flirtations 
with the women in whatever station your regiment’s 
in; paying court to the general’s lady; filling in your 
time inspecting horses’ hoofs and men’s buttons. 
What an existence!” 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


281 

“It doesn't seem so bad sometimes,” murmured 
the major. A little glint came into his eyes. 

" ‘Oh, it drives me half crazy to think of the days I 

Went slap for the Ghazi, my sword at my side; 

When we rode hell-for-leather, two squadrons to¬ 
gether, 

And didn’t care whether we lived or we died-’ 

sort of idea, you know. Common, but excitin’ in 
a way.” 

“George Fordingbridge has influenced half 
Europe before now.” 

“George was brought up in the Poppy-Shirts— 
my old regiment. Many a time he’s gone into the 
horse-trough after a guest night. We train up the 
children in the way they should go.” 

“At the best you’ll never be more than an In¬ 
spector General of Cavalry—a sort of glorified vet¬ 
erinary surgeon and sergeant-major. You know, 
Geoffrey, a really pretty, ambitious girl would always 
have to refuse you. The prospect of sitting in some 
dusty Indian garrison losing her complexion and 
watching you play polo isn’t wonderfully tempting, 
is it? Did you ever think of all that?” 

“It isn’t my way to go about askin’ pretty girls 
to sacrifice themselves for me,” explained the major 



28 2 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


with calm. “If they want to, and I want ’em to 
too, there isn’t any sacrifice and there we are. If 
any wife of mine wouldn’t turn up at a polo match 
I should just spank her because she’d belong to the 
regiment same as me.” 

“Unfortunately the modern girl doesn’t permit 
herself to be spanked,” said Vingie loftily. 

“I ain’t modern; I’m a soldier; one of the two 
oldest professions in the world,” said the major. 

“Do you suppose-” she began. He rose, took 

her two hands and lifted her gently to her feet. 

“We will go for a little walk,” he asserted. 
“You’re tryin’ to quarrel with me. It’s your liver, 
and you need exercise. You ate too many chocs 
after luncheon. Come on—Walk-march!” 

Somewhat to her own surprise, Vingie obeyed, 
The novelty brought quite a thrill. Besides this 
strange person seemed hardly to care whether she 
was pleased or not. 

In her drawing-room, most intimateiy furnished, 
Mrs. Trevor-James surveyed Rupert Frack as some 
medieval craftsman might have surveyed a large 
lump of wood he proposed to carve into a historic 
mantelpiece. Her black gown loved every line of 



VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 283 

her sinuous form, her cabochon rings were large 
and wicked and her pearls were real. She possessed 
a skin of the shade often compared to a magnolia, 
and eyes alleged to be unfathomable by many who 
ought to have known better. The late Mr. Trevor- 
James had fathomed them quite easily because he 
used a string of pearls for a sounding line. 

Rupert gloomed opposite her, and with the tiniest 
shrug she decided that his hour had struck. 

“Rupert, my poor friend, you make me very 
sorry for you,” she murmured. “You say that you 
love a girl, that you'll never love any one else, that 
she doesn't care two straws about you, and that 
you’ll go on loving her till you die. I don’t think 
your life is going to be very amusing.” 

“Men are like that,” replied Rupert with sorrow¬ 
ful pride. “Women take everything and give noth¬ 
ing. If the positions were reversed I couldn't be 
so hard-hearted as she is. Besides, I should realize 
that such persistent devotion, unselfishness, and so 
on couldn't be surpassed by any other man. As 
things are, I must just be resigned. There's always 
my work.” 

“You wouldn’t wish her to pretend, or be insin¬ 
cere,” reproved Mrs. Trevor-James, and this hack- 


284 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


neyed old phrase glided from her tongue with the 
ease bom of infinite repetition. “At least she’s hon¬ 
est with you. At least-” 

“I don’t care a damn if she’s honest or not, as 
long as she won’t let me kiss her and will let some 
other man some day,” snarled Rupert. “Is any 
woman honest if it comes to that? You talk as 
though I were engaging a cashier! What has hon¬ 
esty got to do with it? She’s only honest because 
it suits her. If she wanted me, and it were neces¬ 
sary, she’d lie like blazes!” 

“And you propose to forego all kisses for ever 
and ever because one girl refuses to kiss? Well! 
well! What are those heavenly lines— 

“ 'Oh, was it down in Samothrace 
Beside the great Greek sea 
That first I saw thy dreaming face 
And swore thy slave to be?’ 

“You must be a wonderful lover. Rupert. Give 
me those cigarettes from the mantelpiece, there’s a 
darling.” 

She motioned him to sit beside her on the Ches¬ 
terfield, held up her face to the match, and smoked 
pensively. The mockery died out of her eyes, and 
a little sigh parted her lips. 



VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


285 


“I s’pose it hurts like hell,” she murmured, and 
he nodded almost imperceptibly. Her left hand 
drifted sidelong to his wrist. The soft contact 
appeared to soothe him. He made no effort to re¬ 
lease himself. 

Presently those lazy, trailing white fingers stole 
upward until they rested lightly on his dark head. 
She remained thus, smoking thoughtfully. He 
seemed very tired and sad. Her touch expressed 
sympathy and whether he knew it or not all his 
nerves cried out for it. He never perceived by what 
infinite degree her arm stole round his neck and 
drew him gently against her. His cheek brushed 
hers infinitely soft and fragrant, her hair held some 
intoxicating scent, she was very near, very lovable, 
very kind. She seemed the antithesis of all women 
who refused everything. She had the perfect gift 
of giving. 

Rupert Frack realized her dark eyes looking into 
his, a great stillness, and the appeal of her lips. His 
resolution broke. He drooped his mouth against 
hers and kissed her with a sort of despairing pas¬ 
sion. In a sense he did not kiss her at all; the 
mouth was hers and the kiss another’s; but the 
second kiss, the third, and the rest belonged solely 


286 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


to Agatha Trevor-James. Presently she put a hand 
against his mouth and pushed him away. He sat 
up flooded with a childish lightness of heart. He 
could have sung and shouted. Some weary spell 
had been lifted. 

“Oh!” exclaimed the golden voice in exquisite 
irony, yet not unkindly, “Oh valiant and consistent 
young man! What are those other lines, attributed 
to the same forgetful Crusader- 

“ ‘The Knights went forth upon the wave 
To Christ, his sepulchre; 

But I was traitor to the Grave, 

Oh breast of rose and myrrh!’ 

“Now I think you’d better go. It’s getting late, 
and you’ve stirred up my emotions. If I’m not 
careful I shan’t sleep.” 

“My dear-” began Rupert, utterly contrite. 

She smiled back at him half wistfully; women are 
so greedy of romance and he was a very delightful 
boy. 

“You shall do a penance for your sins and motor 
me down to Charles’ Dorset cottage one day soon. 
I’m thinking of taking it for the autumn.” 

“But-” said Rupert, and flushed crimson. 






VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


287 


“Am I so old and ugly that you refuse me the 
first request I ever made?” she demanded, and that 
clay which was man, modeled into a brute or an 
angel at her will, took the shape of repentance and 
acquiescence. 

When he had gone she rose, touched her ruffled 
hair, went slowly to the telephone and rang up Sir 
Charles. 

“He’s cured from this hour,” she announced. 
“Never more will she have quite that power over 
him. But oh, Charles, the kisses of these love- 
racked boys—(Did he kiss me? Of course he did. 
How could I save him otherwise?)—are very dis¬ 
turbing. I thought I was proof against all that, 
but is one ever ? I wonder!” 

She rang off, and Sir Charles also hung up the 
receiver. He stood for a moment, shook his head 
Sadly and sighed. He sought again his armchair, 
picked up his book and stared into space. 

“No!” he said at last, “one never is—never!” 

“Charles/’ murmured Agatha Trevor-James to 
her soul, “wished me to take this rather attractive 
-boy to Dorset and be seen in his company by the 
hard-hearted young woman who scorns him. I 


288 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


don’t think it’ll do any good and I shall feel like 
a baby-snatcher, but it’s as Charles wills.” 

The car spun between summer hedges. Rupert’s 
eyes wandered over the countryside and came back 
to Agatha. 

“You’re awfully good to me,” he said. “I think 
that’s what a man appreciates most in a woman— 
if she’s good to him. It’s so easy for them because 
we don’t want very much, but they never are. I 
s’pose Virginia will be at the cottage?” 

“Virginia—Charles’ ward. Very charming I be¬ 
lieve. Never met her. Yes, I suppose she will. 
Why?” 

“Oh, nothing.” 

“If she holds up her little finger he’ll run to her 
like a needle to a magnet, not because she’s good to 
him but because she isn’t,” mused Agatha. “He 
looks on me as a fountain of perpetual goodness, 
flowing from a rock of ages to shelter him when 
these arrogant chits stab him with knives. My God, 
do I seem as old as that?” 

They found Vingie and the major seated on the 
lawn. To Rupert she appeared baffled, and he had 
never known Vingie at a loss. The major wore 
that serene air peculiar to small boys who have done 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


289 


wrong and got away with it. Their expressions 
arose out of recent dialogue. To Vingie’s plaint: 
“You don’t care two-pence about my feelings; you 
just sit there and amuse yourself!” he had replied 
with gentle mockery: “Vingie, you’re a darling, 
but a dreadfully spoiled darling. Sometimes I feel 
you weren’t smacked enough as a child.” 

From this situation she raised her eyes to behold 
Rupert accompanied by a beautiful and sinuous 
woman armed with the prestige of a thousand past 
conquests. Over this apparition Rupert fussed a 
little self-consciously. 

Calling up in herself all the valiant blood of the 
Lauristons, Vingie came forward to give a render¬ 
ing of the perfect hostess. She even approached 
Agatha with a little air of deference, the tribute 
of the young girl to the elder woman, a grateful 
thing to both. 

She did not, however, miss the glint which lighted 
the major’s reckless blue eyes nor misunderstand 
when, later, he wandered with Agatha to the far 
side of the lawn. 

“Dearest lady,” he began, “do you remember 
those golden days when you were a guest of His 
Excellency at Simla?” 


290 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


She tapped her white brow with a slender finger. 

“I recall a certain somewhat attractive A.D.C. 
whom I had the grace not to marry.” 

“And now?” 

“Now, I’m an unwanted widow.” 

He made a scornful sound. “Why do you waste 
yourself on that boy-cub full of green-sickness ?” 

“Because an old friend asked me to. Why are 
you idling with a wilful maiden young enough to 
be your daughter?” 

“Because an old friend asked me to, and because 
I didn't know you were in town. Now I shall leave 
her to mew alone in the country.” 

“I’ve got to take my boy-cub back, but if you do 
return and he doesn’t frighten you away I'll be 
awfully pleased to see you.” 

“Frighten me! Oh, pish!” said the major joy¬ 
ously. “Where in the whole of London will you 
be so adorable as to dine with me to-morrow night?” 

Divided from them by some yards of turf, a gen¬ 
eration or so, and a great deal of worldly wisdom, 
Vingie and Rupert sat side by side on a garden 
seat. 

“My dear,” began Vingie with simulated grief, 
“why have you stolen the only woman darling 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


291 

Charles ever really loved? They were so suited to 
each other!” 

“She's been an absolute brick to me—more decent 
than any one else ever was. If it comes to that, 
why are you down here trying to conduct a flirta¬ 
tion with an elderly gentleman?” 

“Simply a man to whom Charles lent the shoot¬ 
ing. He called and one has to be civil. At least 
he was sympathetic about my illness. After all, 
my dear Rupert, there can be such a thing as friend¬ 
ship, between a man and a woman, little as you 
seem to think so.” 

Their eyes beheld Agatha and the major oblivious 
of all earthly cares, basking in each other’s society. 
Vingie turned to Rupert and Rupert to Vingie. 
Their young natures demanded mutely the answer 
to the riddle. 

“Well,” said Rupert heavily at last, “I suppose 
Agatha and I ought to start if we mean to reach 
town in time for dinner.” 


XIII 


I N the golden light of the morning, Mary bring¬ 
ing tea fired also a mine destined to scatter 
Vingie’s peace to the four winds. The gray en¬ 
velope addressed to her in painstaking soldierly 
writing contained so little and so much. His brief 
note thanked her for many pleasant hours, ex¬ 
plained that an urgent summons to London pre¬ 
vented his calling in person. He remained hers 
very sincerely. 

“My dear Mary,” adjured her beautiful young 
mistress, “tell me frankly, am I getting old, are my 
looks fading, or have I become particularly stupid? 
I seem equally unpopular with men of all ages.” 

“I dare say it's the influenza, miss,” comforted 
Mary. “Besides, this country life don't suit every 
one. I feel about a hundred myself. Are we going 
back to town now the major's left, miss?” 

“Damn it, do you want me to run after him?” 
stormed Vingie. “I shall stay here at least another 
fortnight.” 

292 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


293 


Nevertheless, in three days the letter of Eve Duf- 
ferin-Solmes made valor the better part of discre¬ 
tion. 

“My dear old thing, why do you rot in Dorset 
during the height of the season? The world is most 
exciting and I haven’t been to bed before three a.m. 
for a whole fortnight. Jack Plinlimmon is still very 
thrilled. He never goes near that girl at the Omni¬ 
bus Theater now and he flew into a frightful passion 
the evening before last when I refused to let him 
kiss me. Don’t you love it when they go all scarlet 
and trembly with rage? 

“Sir Charles dined with us the other night. I 
think he misses you. He has an unloved look. 
P’r’aps it’s because Mrs. Trevor-James neglects him. 
She is engaged in controlling a violent pursuit by 
Rupert Frack (I thought he was yours for the ask¬ 
ing, darling?) and a soldier man, a Major For¬ 
rester. The atmosphere around her must be indeed 
volcanic. Piggy Vereker is making a book on the 
event—the major at evens and three to one against 
Rupert, with five to one against any marriage in 
less than two months. 

“Do hurry back. You’re missing ever such a 
lot! 

“Yours, 

“Eve.” 

“Mary,” commanded Vingie, “you may pack, and 
tell Roberts to fill up the car with water and petrol. 
We return to town immediately after breakfast.” 


294 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


A happy smile curved the mouth of Mary. She 
was heard singing along the corridor. 

That afternoon Vingie took tea in the small Park 
Street town house of Sir Charles, very appealing 
by reason of an entirely new frock. He beamed 
upon her with the instructed smile of a man who 
has lived, yet there lurked anxiety behind the smile. 

“You do not need to be told how delighted I am 
to see you, my dear Virginia,” he observed. “Phys¬ 
ically a vast improvement is indicated; spiritually 
I detect a certain unrest. Youth has ever suffered 
from a serious lack of philosophy. ,, 

“My darling Charles, the very stars in their 
course fight against me; I am on the eve of a cli¬ 
max. If I die, I die going to meet it,” she an¬ 
swered with the somber gloom of twenty-two. 

Alone, she lighted a cigarette, and asked herself: 
“Do I really want Rupert? Isn’t it just pique on 
account of this Trevor-James woman?” The an¬ 
swer came without hesitation: “If I want any one 
in the world, I do. I’ve known him since we were 
kids. There’s no one else I’m so at home with. I 
believe if he’d only let himself go, he’d make a 
wonderful lover. That’s up to me, of course. f Toute 
femme doit etre la maitresse de son mari.’ ” 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


295 


She went across to the telephone and rang up 
Rupert at the Foreign Office. “Rupert,” she said 
with honey in her tone, “I’m back from the country 
and I want you to take me out to dinner. Will you 
come along at about seven?” 

Indeterminate sounds of confusion quivered from 
the other end of the wire. “Awfully glad to hear 
you’re back,” replied a guilty voice. “I’d love to 
only I’m booked.” 

“Ah!” countered Vingie. “Any one I know ?” 

“I’m dining with Mrs. Trevor-James.” 

“Well, go along and nurse the unconquerable hope 
and clutch the inviolable shade,” cooed Vingie, dig¬ 
ging her finger-nails into her palms with fury. 

“Any other night I’d love-” 

“My dear Rupert, one can never love on any other 
night. It’s always a case of now or never. I’m 
engaged for the next six weeks and after that I 
go to Scotland. Good-by!” 

“ ‘And that was her end, and the end of that 
hunting,’ ” she quoted miserably, staring at herself 
in a mirror. “My dear, you’ve asked for it and 
now you’ve got it. Charles told you to marry Ru¬ 
pert. Charles was right. Now you can’t have him 
you want him. Silly fool, Vingie. Silly, silly fool!” 


296 VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 

A solitary tear trickled down one cheek. She 
dabbed it away as Sir Charles entered. 

“I’m dining out with the wildest man I know. 
It’s like that,” she declared. 

“Get him to give you champagne. It puts heart 
into a woman like nothing else,” advised Sir 
Charles. 

When she had gone he picked up the receiver and 
asked for Mrs. Trevor-James’ number. 

“If you have an opportunity, strike!” he be¬ 
sought her. “The moment is propitious.” 

“Rupert dines here to-night. I will strike in¬ 
stantly,” she replied. 

“And, oh, Agatha,” went on Sir Charles pathet¬ 
ically, “what is this I hear about you and Forrester? 
He was merely to do for Virginia what you have 
done for Rupert. Surely I have deserved bet¬ 
ter-” 

“For you in your capacity of guardian I have 
performed much at great cost to myself, Charles,” 
said an inexorable voice. “In no other sense can 
I do anything at all. If it were necessary I would 
ask you not to break your heart, but it isn’t. Night- 
night!” 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


297 


Sir Charles hung up the receiver and rehearsed 
the pose of supreme grief. Then a faint smile 
crept into his level eyes. 

“It is nerve-racking, brain-searing, altogether 
damnable. I would have married her to-morrow,” 
he reflected. “Still, there is no doubt I have es¬ 
caped again. I enjoy the most consistent luck of 
any man I know/’ 

In the morning Vingie, soothing in her sycamore- 
wood bed the soul-bruises of the hectic night be¬ 
fore, received with some astonishment a telephone 
call from Rupert. She rose wearily, wound a silken 
wrap about the inadequacy of her nightgown and 
staggered rather than walked to the telephone. 

“Well!” she asked coldly. 

“I must see you,” exclaimed a deathly voice. 

“You haven’t dragged me out of bed to tell me 
that, have you?” demanded the exasperated Vingie. 
“I explained I was engaged for six weeks-” 

“That was for dinner,” objected Rupert with 
equal irritation. “I’m going to see you this morn¬ 
ing if I have to tear Uncle Charles’ house down 
to find you. When will you be dressed?” 

“Oh—well—make it half past eleven,” said Vin- 



VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


298 

gie, suppressing a giggle. “G’by.” She turned 
away deep in thought. “Never in his life has the 
lad spoken to me in such a tone. Generally he i$ 
my doormat, my foot-stool. Can that elderly widow 
have taught him anything?” 

At eleven forty-five she came down languidly to 
find Rupert pacing the drawing-room. He glanced 
up at her with ominous eyes. 

“Either one of two things must happen,” he be¬ 
gan. “Either you marry me instantly or we part 
and never see each other again. I’ve been humili¬ 
ated enough. First you treat me like a dog, simply 
using me as a convenience to fetch and carry for 
you, laugh at me when I speak of love and then 
drive me to that other woman-” 

Vingie moved across to him like the ripple of 
wind over a field of wheat and put a gentle hand on 
his arm. 

“My dear,” she said tenderly, “has she been a 
brute to you? Tell me, if it helps.” 

“One doesn’t talk about one woman to another. 
When I arrived at her flat last night there was the 
usual perfect dinner in the usual perfect setting. 
Afterward in the drawing-room I attempted to take 
Agatha in my arms, but she eluded my grasp. 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


299 


“ ‘My dear boy/ she said in a voice quite new 
to me, ‘please don’t There is a time for embracing 
and a time for refraining/ 

“ ‘But when I dined with you before-’ I be¬ 

gan. 

“She leaned back in her chair and looked at me 
out of those wonderful golden eyes, narrowed like 
a cat’s. 

“ T don’t love you. When you were here before 
I set before you an ideal in the matter of kisses. 
You don’t expect me to live up to my own ideal— 
that would be too tiresome. You are a child to me, 
Rupert, dear; I’ve played with you, as grown-ups 
do sometimes play with children, and now playtime 
is over and you must find a play-mate of your own 
age/ ” 

“And you’ve got the nerve to tell me all this?” 
demanded Vingie, her eyes blazing in her pale face. 

“I have,” retorted Rupert with the bland assur¬ 
ance that marked him as a future Cabinet Minister. 
“And why have I ? Because your heartless manner 
toward me made possible this episode with Agatha. 
Because this other woman has been equally unfeel¬ 
ing. Because in future I will do as I please, not 
as any woman pleases. / propose to take everything 


3°° 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


and give nothing henceforward, and you and those 
like you have only yourselves to thank.” 

He stood before the fireplace, feet apart, hands 
behind his back, husband written all over him. 

A curious little smile played round Vingie’s ador¬ 
able mouth. 

“You’ve only kissed Agatha; you’ve never kissed 
me. You don’t know what kissing is, and now you 
never will know.” She stretched out her arms in 
a beautiful gesture. “These, my dear, will never 
draw your head down to the only place where a 
man’s head belongs, just because you’ve dabbled in 
love and grown hot and grown cold, and simply 
mucked everything. You only learned half your 
lesson from Agatha. She let you kiss her and you 
did; she wouldn’t let you, and you didn’t. Oh, 
Rupert, you’re a most estimable young man. Did 
I say man? No, that’s wrong. You’re not a man; 
you’re a perfect little gentleman.” 

“Am I?” queried Rupert in a low growl. He 
stepped from the high plane of the hearth rug and 
moved toward her. His arms went round her in a 
grip of steel. 

Vingie fought him like a tigress. Finally she 
spread her two hands over her face, and it took 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


30 1 


all his strength to wrench them away. At last her 
fair head lay back in the crook of his left arm and 
he won relentlessly to her mouth. 

“And still,” she gasped between kisses, “it— 
wouldn’t mean a thing—if—I didn’t want you to. 
But I do !” 

“I wish,” observed Vingie, arranging her hair 
before the mirror, “we could go out and be married 
now, like they do in the United States. Still it can 
be arranged very quietly. You’d better get a li¬ 
cense, and we’ll be done down in Dorset. I shall 
return there and you can follow as soon as possible. 
We won’t even tell Charles or George Fording- 
bridge. I’d like it to be a surprise for them.” 

“What a lot you know about getting married, 
darling,” murmured Rupert. 

“Women do. They have to, my dear,” she an¬ 
swered absently. 


XIV 


S IR CHARLES glanced furtively at his watch. 

Lord Fordingbridge examined wistfully a print 
on the library wall representing a gentleman com¬ 
ing to grief in the hunting field. 

“They should be here by now,” observed Sir 
Charles. “Are you absolutely sure of the day?” 
Lord Fordingbridge smiled reassuringly. 

“Rupert put in for a month’s leave of absence 
commencin’ yesterday, my dear fellow. Virginia 
was dingin’ to your Dorset cottage, and so I wrote 
to Arthur Scrope, the vicar down there. You know 
him, of course—stroked the Cambridge boat in— 
let me see, what year was it? He wrote back that 
he’d been sworn to secrecy, but if I ordered a special 
luncheon for the twenty-eighth I shouldn’t be far 
wrong. So I let you order the luncheon, Charles. 
They should be here very shortly.” 

Even as he spoke a 30-98 Vauxhall with Rupert 
at the wheel glided along Park Street and drew up 
outside the front door. 


302 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


303 

A radiant Vingie descended followed by her hus¬ 
band. They entered jovially a minute later. 

“Hullo, darlings! We’ve got a surprise for you. 
We’re married,” exclaimed Vingie, kissing Sir 
Charles lightly on the brow. “Would you like to 
look at little Vingie’s marriage lines? I carry them 
about everywhere.” 

“Congratulations, my dear Virginia. Of course 
the shock of the surprise is very great,” declared Sir 
Charles, glancing at Lord Fordingbridge, who was 
busy slapping Rupert on the back. He then relin¬ 
quished this occupation in order to kiss the bride. 

“You must tell us your story over luncheon,” 
went on Sir Charles, as the door opened to admit 
the butler. 

They found the dining-room a mass of roses. By 
Vingie’s plate lay two intriguing cases. One proved 
to contain a long jade necklace from Lord Fording¬ 
bridge, the other a diamond and sapphire bracelet 
from Sir Charles. 

Rupert was staring in amazement at a receipted 
bill and a check of comforting proportions. 

“That’s the receipt for the car I ‘lent’ you, my 
boy,” chuckled Lord Fordingbridge. “I hope you 
find her to your liking.” 


304 


VIRGINIA’S WILD OATS 


“The check is a humble offering from myself,” 
added Sir Charles. 

Vingie sat gazing at them with sparkling eyes. 
“But we never breathed a word. We meant to sur¬ 
prise you. We never gave the faintest hint-” 

Lord Fordingbridge regarded her solemnly. 

“What did the Duke of Wellington say in 1800?” 
he observed. “ The great thing is to find out 
what’s going on at the other side of the hill.’ Laugh 
at me if you like, but respect my secret service. 
Why, the very wine is iced to the psychological tem¬ 
perature !” 

“George,” interrupted Sir Charles solemnly, “I 
give you the toast of the bride and bridegroom!” 

When the triumphal car had finally departed on 
its honeymoon journey to Scotland the two old 
gentlemen returned to the library. With pardonable 
pride, Sir Charles indicated a bottle of 1815 brandy. 

“The last in the cellar, George,” he said. “I kept 
it for Virginia’s wedding, God bless her.” 

“Well, here’s to youth and love!” observed his 
lordship, sipping reverently. 

Sir Charles allowed a wise expression to modify 
his well-cut mouth. 

“In a sense, yes, George. Youth and love are 


VIRGINIA'S WILD OATS 


305 


remarkable possessions. Nevertheless, give me the 
understanding of age. In youth one flies into mad 
ecstasies, but age in the background holds the reins. 
These two young people are a case in point. Every 
step of their careers has been ordained by you and 
me. For the time we let them rejoice and then, 
from what would seem the most unlikely circum¬ 
stances we engineered this marriage. We led them, 
my dear George, by devious routes to meet at the 
altar. Now that is a thing they could never have 
done to us, for all their youth.” 

Lord Fordingbridge placed the tips of his fingers 
together and a tolerant smile irradiated his rubi¬ 
cund face. 

‘There is much in what you say, Charles, as even 
I can see and I'm only a foolish old man. But 
to-day is a day of rejoicing when the cautious spirit 
of age seems out of place. Let us therefore, my 
dear fellow, emulate the glorious recklessness of 
youth and each take another glass of this excellent 
brandy.” 


THE END 
















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